


The Absurdity of Time

by mudbloodmama



Series: Love Stories Through the Ages [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blood Kink, Destiny, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Fate, Fluff and Smut, Good Slytherins, Half-bloods, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Horcruxes, Love?, Lovers, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Riddle Era, Room of Requirement, Roughness, Royalty, Seer, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Smut, Soulmates, happy ending??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:27:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 72,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28773063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mudbloodmama/pseuds/mudbloodmama
Summary: "𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐒𝐞𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐲"After a tragic accident took the lives of her parents, Rosamaria Adeladia Marquez travels to Great Britain to continue her studies at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.Rosamaria is royalty- poised, regal, proud- raised to command the attention of all those around her.Born to rule.She's a fallen duchess, a Spanish treasure, but she's so much more than a rare beauty.Rosamaria Adeladia Marquez is a Seer- one of the most powerful ones in all of the Wizarding world.When she catches the eye of one particular fellow seventh-year and discovers what's in store for her future, she finds it inextricably linked with one Tom Marvolo Riddle.If you could see where your journey leads, how far would you go to change it?
Relationships: Abraxas Malfoy/Original Female Character(s), Cygnus Black/Druella Rosier Black, Orion Black/Walburga Black, Tom Riddle/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Love Stories Through the Ages [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2109555
Comments: 13
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you all for coming to check out Book One of my Wizarding World Universe!
> 
> 1\. This is book one of my Wizarding World Universe. My other ones include Loved and Lost/S.Black, and The Darkest Mark/D.Malfoy. Characters from all these stories will eventually overlap but they can all be read as stand-alone. They move from the Tom Riddle Era, to the Marauder's Era, to the Golden Trio era. 
> 
> 2\. The Lord Voldemort we know is absolutely evil and that evil has to start somewhere. I want to be very clear, I do not condone or endorse manipulative and toxic relationships. I do not believe that men like Lord Voldemort can be saved completely. I do not believe that his actions are in any way justified. 
> 
> 3\. I just want to say it one more time- again I do not condone or endorse manipulative and toxic relationships. However, I want to tell his story in a different way, but just remember, please do not swoon during times that he is absolutely horrible. I will portray him in a new light, a different better light, but that still does not excuse his actions.
> 
> 3\. Since this is a Tom Riddle fan fiction expect this to not be too pretty. Sometimes, it will suck. Sometimes, it will be rather graphic. Sometimes, it will be unpleasant...and sometimes it will be a little saucy (don't lie and say you don't like that). These are moments you can't avoid when writing this type of character. I wish to bring some complexity to him, but that doesn't mean he's as sweet as a Hufflepuff.
> 
> 4.Since this is an AU, I have taken certain liberties and expanded past the canon. Some rules regarding Horcruxes will differ from the canon, but the spirit of it is still intact. 
> 
> If you are reading this on Wattpad, under the author mudbloodmama, that's me! I'm in the process of transitioning my works here. If you are reading it anywhere else, under any other username, THAT'S NOT ME!
> 
> I hope you like this story! Let's begin!

_IF YOU COULD SEE WHERE THE JOURNEY LEADS, HOW FAR WOULD YOU GO TO CHANGE IT?_

This is the one question that always clouds Rosamaria Adeladia Marquez's mind. As a Seer, it was only expected of her to question the mysterious nature of time and space. She had only Seen a handful of visions in her life, meaningless things really. She had predicted the gender of a villager's baby, had correctly pinpointed exactly when the crop would be at its finest, and, at the age of six, she had even Seen the exact locket her mother would gift her on her fifteenth birthday. 

_If I can see where the journey leads, should I bother trying to change it? Can I?_

Since her visions were never proven incorrect, and since they were always so meaningless and trivial, Rosamaria never had to answer this question before. 

As the daughter of a noble Duke and Duchess, Rosamaria- or _Lady Rosamaria_ \- has an incredibly wonderful life. The little Spanish village of Besalu she and her parents rule over is a peaceful little place, close to the sea and the architecture makes it permanently stuck in Medieval Times. The villagers are kind to her and adore their Duke and Duchess that look over them all with nothing but kindness. 

Her days are spent practicing her magic with her mother and governess, and learning how to rule with her muggle father. She walks the halls of her beautiful villa in her pretty dresses, she picks flowers from the community gardens, and she dines with the villagers every Sunday after mass. 

Her life is wonderful. 

Correction- 

Her life _was_ wonderful.

Rosamaria coughs, holding her dainty hand over her mouth, trying to block the thick smoke from billowing into her lungs. The night is so dark and so cold, but the fire that rages around her makes her feel like she's crawling through hell. 

And she is crawling- on her hands and knees- trying to grope at her surroundings for the two people she's looking for. She can feel that her dress is scorched, that her skin is blistering, and that her lungs have taken too much abuse, but she can't stop. 

She's not thinking about escaping, knowing she can Disapparate any second, because she refuses to go alone. She sees through the broken window ahead of her that rain is pouring dangerously through the broken cracks in her villa, but she knows that won't stop or even appease the fire. She rips off a piece of her skirt, holds it out briefly until it's wet, and then brings it to her mouth. She closes her eyes again, trying to prevent the smoke from doing any more damage as she continues on her path of exploration. 

She doesn't know how much she can take before her hands finally land on a solid figure. 

" _Mama_!" she cries, her eyes snapping open as she weakly rolls over the body. " _Mami_!"

In her arms, with dead eyes open and silent mouth parted is her beautiful witch of a mother. Rosamaria's shaky fingers come up to her mother's neck, trying to feel for a pulse that isn't there. She begins to wail as she clutches her mother, whimpering slightly as she begs for her to come back to life. 

She raises her eyes and immediately spots the lifeless body of her father laying beside her governess, who has been impaled under a large beam. It seems that her noble father had been trying to protect the sweet British witch, but in the end, it hadn't done either of them any good. 

They were all dead. Her mother, her father, her governess- her _family_. 

They should have Disapparated the second the fire started. They shouldn't have tried to salvage the remnants of their life, not when the threat was so fierce and the intention was so deadly. When the villagers had come with pitchforks and torches- almost out of some ridiculous fantastical film- they should have Disapparated that very second, but they hadn't. 

No, they had chosen to be noble and to be understanding and to appease the rage of the mob, and that had been a mistake. 

When the village's priest had brandished the thick rope and instructed his congregation to tie the family to the wooden beams of their home, she should have known better. 

Her father's pride, her mother's kindness, and her governess's loyalty had gotten them killed. 

And Rosamaria, well, her grief would soon get her killed. 

With great effort, she drags her mother's body toward the rest of her family, trying to figure out whether or not she can Side-Along Apparate all of them somewhere safe, but she knows she will more than likely get splinched. However, she can't leave them, she just can't. They need a proper burial somewhere where summer is forever and life is abundant. They don't deserve to be laid to rest under a pile of rumble or let themselves turn into nothing but dust

They would want her to leave, she knows this, but she just can't and before she can decide what to do, a voice startles her. 

" _Ahí estás, bruja_!" 

The man that stands in front of her is nothing but fury. He looks startled to see her- enraged more than likely- because they were not meant to survive this fire. They were superstitious people, the villagers, and they still believe that witches and wizards can be killed with fire. 

Well, they _can_ when you tie the witch up, knock them out, and set them aflame without any way to protect themselves. 

Rosamaria sports a deep gash down the side of her cheek, given to her when they had attempted to knock her out, but they hadn't hit her hard enough.

The man looks like a plebian Hades trying to drag her to the gates of hell. He is alone which is a small blessing in itself, but with his bulky frame, staggering height, and long blade, the blessing is nearly a curse. 

" _Los mataste_!" she screeches, clutching her mother closer to her chest. " _Por qué_!" 

But the question of why falls on deaf ears and it all happens so quickly. One second he's standing in front of her, and then the next, he's running toward her with all the speed of a bull. Her hand instinctively reaches for her wand, but it's nowhere to be found.

" _Accio varita!_ " She snatches the wand mid-air. She points it at the man, but her fingers are trembling. Her governess taught her several dueling hexes, but she's never had to use them before. It was for practical reasons only, for knowledge, and in her peaceful life, she never imagined using it. 

But he's charging at her, he's going to kill her- no, not just that- he _wants_ to kill her. 

But she can't die, she _refuses_ to die. She won't give him or the rest of the villagers the satisfaction of massacring the entire Marquez line. Her family was kind, they were loving, they did nothing but treat everyone with compassion and equality. 

They didn't deserve to die, and she doesn't either. 

" _Avada Kedavra_!"

An Unforgivable Curse- the Killing Curse. It was the one thing her governess and her mother refused to teach her. They refused to give lectures on the Dark Arts, stating that she would never need to know such foul things. However, Rosamaria has an insatiable curiosity and when she is told she can't do something, it only eggs her on. 

When the green light flashes and strikes the man's chest, she's surprised that it worked. She's surprised that his eyes are devoid of any emotion and that his body lies limp on the floor. 

It is a shock to her because the one thing she remembers so clearly about the Unforgivable, life-ending curse, is that- 

You have to mean it. 

And she meant it. 

With tears in her eyes, smoke in her lungs, and blisters on her skins, she wails. This isn't her perfect pretty picture, this isn't her life. She can't fathom why she did that, why she killed the man, or why the events of the last twenty-four hours occurred. 

But that's a lie. She knows why her family was targeted. She knows why her beautiful villa is burning to the ground. She knows why the worst thing in the worst is happening to her. 

No, it's not the worst thing. 

The worst thing is that she had Seen it coming. 

━━━━━━━━━━━

Rosamaria twitches her fingers anxiously, adjusting herself once more on the uncomfortable seat she occupies. Her fingers absentmindedly brush against her cheek, still feeling the ghost of the gash she was given a week prior, already having magically healed it. 

She looks at the enchanted clock on the wall, noticing that it has been a deafening five minutes since the man in front of her has spoken. She doesn't tolerate silence very well, so she sits up straighter with perfect posture and clears her throat. 

"Headmaster" she begins, and her accent is rich and heavy because it's been far too long since she's spoken anything but her native language. "I am sorry, but are you going to say anything?"

The man stops pacing and stares at her with wide eyes as if forgetting that there was a young witch sitting in his office. After a second, he schools his features into a more pleasant expression and sits behind his oak desk. "I apologize, dear. It's just that your request is rather...unprecedented."

Rosamaria lets out a shaky breath. Unprecedented is better than unacceptable. 

"Yes, I understand. However, I wish that you would understand my situation. I have nowhere else to go-" she feels tears threatening to fall but she reels them in "-I promise you, my English is somewhat perfect. My governess taught me magic in the British tradition. There are no witch and wizarding schools in Spain, and I-"

"I understand that you were schooled by a governess your entire life, but why not just find another?" he interrupts, cocking his head to the side. "Based on your age and skill, you would only spend one year here. Why uproot your life because of that? Why not stay home-"

"Home," she says with a shaky breath, her fingers almost traumatized by how much she's wringing her hands. "I do not have a home anymore. I could find another governess, but I do not want to. I love my country, but I can not be there anymore. My governess studied here, and she was very fond of this school."

Her answer lacks the elegance she normally speaks with, but she can't help it. It has only been a week since she buried her parents, since she fled her home, and since she made her way to Great Britain. She is just as shaken as her trembling voice, and she's desperate which is something that is unbecoming of a woman of her station. 

But she doesn't care. 

"Headmaster Dippet," she says once more, leaning closer to him with tear-brimmed chocolate eyes. "Please. I have nowhere else to go. I understand that you normally do not take transfers, but please. If it would be easier, I could start off as a First Year. I would not mind-"

Dippet shakes his head and swallows audibly. "No. No, trust me you don't want to be in a classroom with eleven-year-olds that don't know which way to point their wands. No, you will start as a Seventh Year. We'll get you sorted before the school year begins- I won't make you stand in the Great Hall with the rest of the First Years- and in the next few days, I will have a fellow student help you with your transition. I have a particularly bright student in mind, he's our Head Boy and he'll arrive in a few days and I'll-"

"Wait, what?" she squeaks, jumping out of her seat with a wide smile. "Are you being serious?"

Her excitement coaxes a warm smile from the professor as he nods his head. He feels sympathy for the young witch in front of him and that's why he's going to allow her to attend his school. He knows that her presence will cause some turmoil amongst his staff- there is a reason that they don't accept transfers who haven't gone through all the stages of proper education- but her situation is supremely shocking. 

Dippet is a kind man, and kind men don't turn away people who truly need them. 

He looks at her, a fallen daughter of nobility, trying to regain her composure. He eyes her extravagant dress that should belong in a different time period. Her chocolate brown hair reaches her waist and is perfectly composed, just like she is. Her dainty features and warm smile bring him a sense of calm. He can see the excitement in her dark brown eyes, the promise for a better _happier_ life, and the will to survive the impossible. 

The young witch in front of him is a survivor. 

So, that's why he stands and extends his hand to her, a swell of admiration coursing through him when she accepts the gesture with a firm and confident shake of his hand. 

"Lady Rosamaria Adeladia Marquez, welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."


	2. Chapter 2

_TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE HAS NOT BEEN HAVING A GOOD DAY._ The day has been so bad, that he considers whether or not he should obliviate Declan Rosier just for the fun of it. 

Nothing, in particular, happened this morning. He had gotten up, shifted through his not so expansive wardrobe, readied himself in the Head Boy washroom, and come to breakfast at the Great Hall. 

He finds that he's always so terribly bored nowadays. Classes are too simple, people are too mundane, and he is so dangerously _bored_. His Knights of Walpurgis surround him at the breakfast table, talking aimlessly about whatever frivolity they participated in the night before. 

Walburga is staring at her brother, Cygnus as he and their cousin Orion fight over the last slice of pumpkin patsies- as if not remembering that the House Elves will just make more magically appear. Abraxas has his arm slung over Astera Lestranges' shoulder, trying to convince his betrothed for a quick shag before they head to Hogsmeade- something that her twin brothers Ryker and Rolin are grotesquely encouraging. Cantankerous Nott, Druella Rosier, and Madelina Parkison are talking about the upcoming Slytherin match against Hufflepuff. 

His followers supremely disgust him, but he keeps them around because of the connections they grant him. He, unfortunately, has to admit that Abraxas's wealth has been a great advantage to him, as well as Madelina's ties to the Ministry due to her upcoming marriage to Cornelius Chapman who has already graduated from Hogwarts and begun a position in the Department of Mysteries. 

Tom looks up from his breakfast and across the Great Hall, his eyes landing on Albus Dumbledore who sits at the table at Headmaster Dippet's right side. He internally groans. Tom has been able to woo every single professor at Hogwarts with his charming personality, outstanding marks, and dazzling smile, but that brute Dumbledore's suspicion won't relent. 

Almost unconsciously, he tugs down the sleeve of his cream jumper as if Dumbledore possesses x-ray vision and can see right through the fabric to his Dark Mark. 

When Dumbledore's eyes meet his, Tom schools his features into a pleasant expression and waves at him. To his not surprise, Dumbledore's lips set into a tight scowl before turning to Headmaster Dippet. However, Headmaster Dippet has caught their rather tense exchange and instead is the one to wave back at the Head Boy. In a matter of seconds, the Headmaster excuses himself from Dumbledore and makes his way to the Slytherin table. 

"Tom," the Headmaster begins, sending warm smiles to him and his companions. "How are you, son? Are you excited for the beginning of your final year?"

"I'm excellent, sir." Tom plasters on his incredibly fake smile- he needs Dippet to like him- he needs Dippet to adore him, truthfully, if his future plans are to succeed. "I just can't wait for classes to begin this week. I hope to score at the top of our year."

Dippet smiles. "Well, knowing you, I'm sure you will succeed. However, I'm not here simply to exchange pleasantries. I was wondering if you could pop by my office at some point today. I have a matter I wish to discuss with you."

If it's possible, Tom's mood sours just a bit more. He raises his eyebrows pleasantly but skeptically. "Is something the matter, sir?"

"No, no," Dippet assures, waving his hand dismissively. "As I said, just some matters. I'll see you in my office later?"

"Of course."

 _Yes_ , Tom thinks with deep rage. _Today is not a good day_. 

He fiddles with the food in front of him, finding that ever since creating his two Horcruxes- the diary he always carries with him and the ring that rests on his finger- that he doesn't particularly have an appetite. Food tastes bland now, sweet wine tastes bitter, and sweets have lost all their mirth. With a sigh, he stands and all his Knights follow him, regardless if they have finished their breakfast. 

He has been tuned out of their conversations, but his ears perk up when Nott's annoying voice startles him. He looks down to see that his most feeble Knight has stopped in his tracks after letting out a loud gasp. Everyone else seems to notice his dazed expression, and they stop. 

"What is it, Canty?" Madelina asks, running a hand through her bushy blonde hair as she shoves his shoulder. "Do you have to use the toilet? You know you really shouldn't eat that many sweets at breakfast with a stomach like yours." 

Nott shakes out of his daze and snaps at her. "You are not my mother, Madelina, and just so you know, I don't have to use the toilet."

"Then what is it?" Tom barks, increasingly frustrated by the overwhelming immaturity of his followers. "Are you going to keep me waiting, or are you going to come out with it?"

"Um...it's silly, really. I just spotted the new transfer student." He points his trembling finger directly across the entryway to a young woman standing with a group of giggling girls. Nott does not want to relive what happened just a few nights ago when his Lord punished him for simply breathing too loudly.

Tom raises his eyebrows. "A transfer student?"

"Rosamaria Adeladia Marquez," Abraxas says, sporting a wolfish grin. "She's a right sight for sore eyes- _Salazar_ , Astera!"

Astera scowls at him, completely unimpressed with her fiance's lingering gaze. "I've never even heard of anyone transferring into Hogwarts. I suppose she thinks she's holier-than-thou for being granted that privilege."

"From what I heard, it was because of _extenuating circumstances_ , whatever that means," Druella says passively, foully scrunching up her nose when a thought enters her mind. "Do you think she's a mudblood?"

"Interesting," Tom says, taking a better look at the young woman. 

With only her back to them, there's not much that he can see beside her dark hair that's worn loosely and stops right before her hips, and the red shall that is wrapped around her figure. 

_Average_ , he thinks, _just like everyone else._

"Can I talk to her?"

Tom frowns as he looks down to see Nott's terror-struck face. A part of Tom is pleased, however, that Nott knows better than to do anything against his wishes. He muddles over how ridiculous teenage boys are with their primal desires- desires that expose their lack of control- that make them lose their wits. When Tom doesn't respond, Nott seems to understand that he won't be greeting the new student anytime soon. 

However, Tom has a begrudging realization. Nott, however feeble and cowardly, _is_ exceedingly loyal. He sighs when he acknowledges that Nott has worked hard over the last few days- enduring countless _Crucio_ -s and waiting at his beck and call- so he the man deserves just a tad bit of praise. 

_We want them to fear you, but we also want them to be loyal_ , the voice in his head reminds him. 

With a curt nod of his head, Nott's face transforms into sheer giddiness as he calls the girl over. "Hey, Rosamaria!"

Tom is just about to motion his followers to walk with him and leave Nott behind to his childish antics, but when the young witch hears Nott's frantic call, she turns around in a hurry. 

There have only been two instances when Tom was utterly awestruck. 

The first was when he first stepped foot into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, marveling at the magic coursing through the grounds and the intimately powerful aura it exuded. 

The second is his first look at Rosamaria Adeladia Marquez. 

When she turns around, he finds himself breathless. In this new light, he can see that the true color of her hair is deep chocolate, which frames her face perfectly. She has equally dark chocolate eyes, a thin face, and her lips are painted blood red. 

When she smiles and displays her perfectly straight white teeth, he can see why Nott is so fond of her, but it's not just her beauty that shocks him, but the sheer amount of authority that her presence commands. When she dismisses herself from the other witches, they look at her with adoration and awe, as if they are proud she chose to grace them with her presence. When she walks gracefully up to him and his Knights, she walks with regality, strength, and kindness, as if she owns the halls of the very school she just started at. 

She smiles as she kisses both of Nott's cheeks. "Hello, Can...Cantank- Oh, I am sorry. Your name is so difficult for me to say."

Tom's fists clench at the sound of her accented voice that drips off her tongue like honey. _A Spaniard_ , thinks, briefly wondering whether or not his name would sound like music coming out of her mouth. 

"Oh, it's okay," Nott says with a blush, scratching the back of his neck. "How have your first few days been? Are you settling in alright?"

"Very well. Classes have yet to start but I am adapting rather well," she replies with a nod before looking over his shoulder at the rest of the group. "Hello, Abraxas. Forgive me, I do not know the rest of you."

Nott quickly introduces her to the rest, not liking that her attention is being drawn from him. He notices the way Rosamaria gives them each a warm smile, directing her sole attention to every single body, and uttering a polite hello at them all. 

"And this is Tom Riddle," Nott says with a proud grin, guiding her closer to his Lord with a gentle hand on her lower back. "He's the Head Boy this year."

When those warm chocolate eyes finally land on him, he feels something twitch in his gut. She nods her head politely and he can see a light flush coat her cheeks, showing that she is just as affected by his looks as every other witch. 

"Well, it is nice to meet you all," she says politely, her eyes steady on Tom's, and for some reason, his stomach churns pleasantly at the fact that it seems like it's solely directed to him. "I would greet you all properly as I did with Nott if I could, but we would be here all day."

The comment immediately earns her a round of laughs from all the men surrounding her, and Tom is shocked at how easily she elicited that reaction. It's as if earning the praise of others is effortless, a right she had somehow earned. He sees that Madelina is smiling wildly at her- she's annoyingly the kindest out of all of his followers- while Astera, Druella, and Walburga sneer at her, more than likely feeling resounding jealousy. 

Tom has always been a natural charmer, but it takes a supreme amount of effort on his part to play the facade of a perfect student, to make others come to adore him. However, with Rosamaria, it felt as if the world was already accustomed to bowing at her feet. 

"Rosamaria," Abraxas begins, ignoring the way Astera tries to tug on his jumper to pull him back. "I know you were sorted into Ravenclaw, but we're throwing a party in the Slytherin common room tonight for the start of the new school year. You should come. You can even bring some friends if you wish."

Tom raises his eyebrows quizically at Abraxas, whose lovely fiancee stands behind him in a huff, noticing that Nott isn't the only one of the men entranced by her. Cygnus can't take his eyes off her chest, and Rykin and Rolin are practically drooling as they look at her legs. Orion is somewhere behind them with a dropped jaw, staring and her fingers and more than likely wondering what they would feel like wrapped around his cock. 

_Juvenile_. 

It isn't common for Abraxas, or any other Slytherin really, to invite those from other Houses to join them during one of their extravagant parties. However, looking at Rosamaria more closely, he has to admit to himself that he can see why.

He sees that the red shawl she wore is actually covering a very short beige dress that hugs her chest tightly, exposing a not-so-modest amount of cleavage, and that her legs are bare despite proper etiquette insisting that she wear tights. However, she doesn't look vulgar, but elegant. It might be because of the way she holds herself with pride and light, daring anyone to challenge her poise and prestige. 

Despite her alluring figure and seductive lips, she looks so innocent and Tom Riddle can't help but feel like he wants to ruin her, to strip her bare of all that pride, to watch her fall at his feet, to corrupt that sweet smile with his dirty hands on her body. 

Rosamaria's tongue briefly darts out to wet her lips as she ponders Abraxas's invitation and this causes Tom's pants to feel alarmingly tight. He begins to wonder if the minx was personally brought to Hogwarts to test his control, to elicit unusual carnal desires from him, perhaps by Dumbledore to corrupt him. He also wonders whether or not his physical responses to her have something to do with his unusually foul mood. 

After a brief minute, she nods her head. "That would be very nice. I will make sure to make some more friends before tonight."

Abraxas seems supremely pleased by her response, too pleased, and Astera elbows him in the gut with narrowed eyes. It seems as if the conversation is coming to an end, and Tom decides that he has grown tired of the whole interaction, wishing to clear his mind of this childish nonsense and continue on his plans for his next meeting. 

However, before he can turn around, a clumsy First Year accidentally bumps into him and sends his school bag reeling to the floor. With a grumble, Tom flicks his eyes to Rykin and Rolin, and the twins already know what is going to be asked of them as they run to catch up with the First Year. 

He goes to bend down and pick up his books before Rosamaria beats him to him. She bends down and, in that brief second, he can see down her top and the sight of her kneeling before him makes his breath hitch. 

He has to admit to himself that it's not the worst image in the world, perhaps it would be better if she were on her knees. 

"Here," she whispers, smiling demurely and handing him his books, her fingers grazing against his knuckles as she does. 

"Thank you-"

However, the minute their skin comes into contact, her brown eyes widen with shock. He watches the way her eyes glaze over, her lips part, and her fingers tremble against his. 

She looks as if she's been petrified, but before he can question why, she snaps out of it. 

"Oh," she breathes, fumbling with her shawl as she blushes, tightening it around her body as if to shield herself from his wandering eyes. "I am sorry. I-I am not feeling too good. I will see you all at the party tonight, thank you for the invite."

Before anyone can bid her farewell, she's hurriedly making her way away from them. Nott seems thoroughly disappointed that she didn't say goodbye, and his eyes wander toward Tom as if looking for some reason for her quick departure. 

Tom, however, doesn't give a single shit about what Nott is thinking. 

A cruel smirk graces his lips as he watches her retreating form, his curiosity impossible peaked at what could have caused her sudden panic. 

_Yes_ , he says with determination and intrigue. _I will ruin her_. 

And then suddenly, his day becomes significantly better. 

━━━━━━━━━━━

  
_ROSAMARIA'S VISIONS ALWAYS CAME BY UNEXPECTEDLY._

The first vision she had was when she was five years old. She had been sitting in the garden with her governess, learning all the different Herbology terms, when she suddenly felt as if the world was spinning. She had closed her eyes, cried, and trembled as lights fluttered against her closed lids.

And then, she Saw it.

She had Seen this tiny little butterfly, newly hatched, floating in the air before landing on her governess's shoulder. The little five-year-old had quickly dismissed it until three weeks later, under that very same tree, her vision came true.

It had started like that. Random visions during random times, something connected, sometimes not.

Like all Seers, Rosamaria doesn't get to choose when or where her visions appear. It's not like what the muggles portray in fairytales or pictures. There are no glowing balls or summoning spells- it's just nature.

Rosamaria has learned early in life that the Sight is a mysterious gift- or a curse depending on the way one looks at it- so she had never been truly frightened by anything she had Seen.

Until today.

Rosamaria had been having a lovely day. Yes, the British weather is a lot more dreary than she's used to but in a few short days, she's come to like it. It feels peaceful, calm, like a little oasis trapped within a gloomy snowglobe.

The girls from Ravenclaw are nice to her- wise and clever- and they're witches she can see herself being friends with. When she first arrived, they were a little surprised by the sudden addition of a Seventh Year student, but that quickly changed the second she opened her mouth. She hadn't done it maliciously but she had charmed them nonetheless. They caught her up on all the gossip around the castle, of the teachers that allowed them time to finish their scrolls in class, and of the best hours to hit the library.

The few boys she had met fawned over her, but that's nothing she's not used to. They were all respectful with their words, but their eyes betrayed them. Some were sweet, some were aggressive, but overall they were harmless. She had been able to tell that they thought of her as some unique foreign flower just begging to be plucked. She was kind to them all nonetheless, but she hadn't given any one of them a second thought.

That is until she saw Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Even though she has only been at Hogwarts for a few days, she's heard much about him- jealous whisperings from boys in other houses, declarations of admirations from every girl within her house.

When she saw him, the only thing she could think of was just how _beautiful_ he was. That isn't a word she typically assigns to men- beauty- but that's what he is. Those high cheekbones, curly brown hair, plump lips, long lashes, they were all such feminine traits, but he made them look like the epitome of masculinity.

He looks like some sort of male siren, a mythical creature that uses its wiles to lure women to their deaths. If her looks had any impact on him, he hadn't shown it. Nott and the other boys had been rather obvious in their fawning, but not him. No, he must be too grand and too untouchable for something that obvious.

However, when she had touched him- when skin grazed skin- his beauty had been quickly forgotten.

Because she _Saw_ something.

It hadn't been abundantly clear, it was hazy, disorienting, and nearly knocked her off her feet.

The scene was dark, surrounded by rubble and ash, cloaked in screams and blood, and there had been a man there at the very center of it all. The man was something otherworldly. He had serpent-like red eyes, a cruel decaying smile, a missing nose, the palest skin- a monster.

She wasn't there, but she was all the same, and she was utterly terrified.

It was just a brief flash of him until the picture changed, the angle altered, and what she Saw left her trembling.

It was her. She Saw it with perfect clarity. _Her_. She, in the middle of the blood and the screams and the chaos, was looking around at the destruction around her. She was looking at teenagers fighting for their right to live, looking at men with faces like skulls, looking at the werewolves, the dementors, the _violence_.

Then she Saw a green flash, the unmistakable flash of the worst curse, aimed directly at her heart.

It had been so absolutely terrible. It was the vision of the end, she was sure of it. She hadn't known who the man in question was, but she knew with complete certainty that it had something to do with Tom Marvolo Riddle.

The sun has barely set as she walks through the dark halls of Hogwarts, and all she can think about is what she Saw. She remembered early that day that she had a meeting with Headmaster Dippet, something she doesn't particularly want to attend, but what could her excuse be?

_Oh, I'm sorry Headmaster, but I had a vision that your Head Boy is going to somehow lead me to my death. Do you think we can reschedule?_

She shakes the thought out of her head. She considers whether she should go somewhere else, maybe Durmstrang or Beauxbatons. Or, perhaps, she'll just stay away from the beautiful man with his unknown agenda and connections to her future killer.

It's not her responsibility, it's not her burden to bear. She's already tried to change the future once, to act against destiny, and it cost her _everything_. 

_If you could see where the journey leads, how far would you go to change it?_

But it is her burden to bear. She _Saw_ herself beside the mysterious man, so technically it is _her_ responsibility, it is _her_ life.

_Don't meddle in things you don't understand, Rosamaria._

Her mother had once told her that. Her mother had warned her against the dangers of trying to influence the Sight. Her mother had told her of the other Marquez women who possessed the gift. Her mother preached to her that sometimes the future was certain, and sometimes it wasn't.

The Sight, to her begrudging sigh, is so terribly complicated.

All she can do is avoid the young man and hope that the vision changes and sometimes they do. The Sight is tricky that way, it's never cut and dry, and it's never a guarantee.

She realizes she's been grinding her teeth and she forces herself to calm down. She is a daughter of nobility- poised and perfect- and stress and tension should never visibly sit on her shoulders. She breathes in deeply as she opens the doors to the Headmaster's office but is floored when she sees whose waiting for her on the other side.

 _Fuck_ , she thinks. _You really can't outrun destiny._  
  
  
  
  
  


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Tom Riddle smiles as Rosamaria enters Dippet's study, his smile widens when he takes in her slightly startled eyes, and for some reason, it delights him that he's caught her off-guard. That perfect demeanor he had witnessed earlier in the day crumbles for a second, her chocolate eyes widen, and her red lips part.

"Oh, Lady Marquez," Headmaster Dippet says, standing to greet her. "Prompt, just as I expected!"

Tom raises his eyebrows. _Lady_ Marquez, that is something he didn't expect. He turns back to her and he finds himself liking the way her cheeks flush at Dippet's words. He likes seeing that break in her pristine composure- the nervous fingers, anxious lips, sad eyes- because it brings her down that pedestal she more than likely imagines herself on.

"Ms. Marquez is fine, Headmaster," Rosamaria says, smiling deceptively bright despite the twitch in her eyes. "I no longer hold those titles. They are not necessary."

Dippet cocks his head and shrugs dismissively. "If you insist, Ms. Marquez. Have you met Mr. Riddle yet?"

Rosamaria finally turns to look at Tom, and the pleased smile he plasters on his face is actually genuine for once. Her body is still half-way through the door as if she's afraid of contracting Dragon Pox if she comes any closer.

She smiles half-heartedly at him and turns back to Dippet. "Yes..."

"Well, he's the one I told you about!" Dippet all but cheers, looking at Tom with a fondness he's grown used to. " I'll be having him show you around the castle and make sure you get situated properly."

Tom wants to smirk but he holds his smugness back. When Dippet had summoned him earlier, he had been more than annoyed- furious almost- but knew there was no way to politely decline an invitation to the Headmaster's office.

_I'm sorry Headmaster Dippet but could we reschedule? See, there's this young woman that's caught my attention and I can't decide what's the best way to go about ruining her. Actually, which one sounds better? Fucking her senseless like a whore or torturing her until she begs for mercy? Thoughts?_

However, now Tom is reveling in the way Rosamaria's eyes widen and his curiosity is again peaked. Yes, he has better things to do- trying to take over the Wizarding World and the like- but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to get to the bottom of Rosamaria's peculiarity-

Specifically, regarding him.

Tom sees the hesitation in her eyes, the gears working in her mind as if trying to come up with some way to get out of it.

"Actually Headmaster, I have made a few friends already," she politely explains, still remaining at the threshold of the room. "They are very nice girls from my house, and I am sure they would be more than happy to-"

But her excuse falls on deaf ears as Dippet continues. "Oh, I am sure they are all very lovely girls indeed, but Mr. Riddle here is our Heady Boy! Surely there is no one better suited to give you the official tour."

"Surely," Rosamaria repeats, licking her lips and sneaking a glance at Tom.

Tom finds this rather amusing. It was only a few hours ago that her eyes could not leave his. He knows the attraction she has for him- it's rather warranted- but now she can't find it in herself to meet his gaze.

Despite the fact that he can almost taste her nerves, he continues to be thoroughly impressed with her. Even- ironically- _riddled_ with some unusual and random anxiety around him, she holds her chin high, her shoulders back, her spine straight as an arrow. An unusual desire strikes him to see just how far he needs to push to see that break.

"Splendid," Dippet smiles, leaning back on his seat.

Without much more pageantry, Dippet dismisses them. Tom bids his farewell to the Headmaster and comes up beside the young witch right before she can all but run from the office.

"My lady," Tom grins, offering her his arm with an exaggerated and slightly mocking bow.

She hesitates for a moment, his condescension apparently not lost on her, and swallows audibly as she outstretches her hand and places it on the crook of his elbow as if it's meant to bite her. "As I said, the title is not necessary. I would prefer it if you could refrain from using it."

Tom is startled by her sharp reply, sensing a bit of anger laced in her musically accented voice. "If that's what you wish. It seems that you and I are going to become very close."

She only nods in response, her eyes still set straight ahead of her, and Tom finds himself feeling extremely put off by her apparent disinterest in holding a conversation with him. Tom isn't under any illusions of what others would call his personality flaws, he rather enjoys being the center of attention, and he immensely enjoys being a person of supreme fondness. Her attitude urges him to grit his teeth and demand she takes a more delicate tone with him, but he suppresses it.

"Headmaster Dippet put us in all the same classes together."

This seems to catch her attention and her eyes snap to him as her hand tightens around his arm. She's lovely when she's frightened and that's what she is, frightened. Those chocolate eyes are looking at him as if he just told her she's been sentenced to her death. Her lips are parted in a manner too seductive for their current situation. Whatever it is that happened to her earlier today has surely traumatized the poor witch, but her trauma fuels his desire to learn the truth, to know more. He wants to know everything and he _needs_ to know her.

Lovely is the perfect word to describe her.

"Are you still going to the gathering we're having tonight?" Tom asks when she averts her eyes yet again. She's squirming beside him and he steps just a bit closer, encouraging that delicious nervousness of hers. "At the Slytherin common room?"

"I was invited," Rosamaria replies in a smooth voice, briefly looking up at him to smile. "It would be rude of me to not make an appearance."

Tom scoffs to himself. Despite her apparent lack of interest in being anywhere near him, her uptight decorum still dictates she go through with her word. He wonders whether or not she grew up around these sort of obligated gatherings, and he wonders how many times she's had to play herself to perfection.

"Well then, I look forward to seeing you there."

And then Tom does something he hadn't planned on doing. He steps away from her, and ever so slowly, he dips down and presses a kiss to both her cheeks.

He doesn't know what possessed him to do it. Perhaps it's because he wants to get back into her good graces for whatever unfathomable reason, and that is the traditional Spanish way of finishing a social interaction. He had seen her do the same thing with Nott, and she seemed so willing and eager to engage in boundary-tipping physical contact.

Whatever his intention might have been, he is supremely pleased by her reaction. With his lips against her cheeks, he hears her breath hitch and when he moves over to the other cheek, he stops briefly to observe the shock in her face and the flush on her tan cheeks.

She doesn't say anything else, which anyone else would consider rude before she disappears. She simply leaves him staring at her retreating form, the way her legs seem to want to run but the way her mind tells her to keep a steady pace. He watches the way her red shawl billows around her like some mythic cape, and he catches the subtle glance behind her shoulder.

He can't help it. He lifts his hand and waves at her, biting his bottom lip as she immediately turns back around. He laughs to himself because he can see just how much _fun_ this is all going to be.

And, even with her gone, he swears he can still smell honey flowers in the air. 


	3. Chapter 3

_THIS IS MORE LAVISH THAN ROSAMARIA EXPECTED_ but she's not bothered by it in the slightest. Bottles of champagne, little hors d'oeuvre on trays, enchanted blackbirds flittering close to the ceiling- it's enchanting. 

The Slytherin Common Room is located in the dungeons of Hogwarts and it's a rather cold place. It's cold, but not just because of the chill she feels skating up her arms. The walls resemble smooth rocks that are just urging to cut one with its jagged angles. The floor is a deep green marble that cry out with every step one takes. It's nothing like the Ravenclaw Common Room which is airy and light, with beautiful mountain scenes and enchanted stars twinkling in the ceiling. 

There is something foreboding of being trapped below the grounds of Hogwarts, and Rosamaria and her friends stick out like sore thumbs. 

Her two closest Ravenclaw friends- Theodora Clearwater and Penelope Patil- had been so excited to attend an elusive Slytherin party. They had informed Rosamaria that people from other houses were never welcomed, and they had jumped at the opportunity to experience this level of extravagance. 

However, standing in the corner of the room, observing the scene around them, the two witches seem to be regretting their decision. They are dressed in the fanciest dresses they own which apparently aren't fancy at all compared to the Slytherin witches who are clad in golden-green gowns that are worth more than imaginable. 

Theodora is fumbling with the little lace trim around her periwinkle dress, and Penelope is trying to snap off the loose thread on her shoulder. While they feel they are severely underdressed, Rosamaria _knows_ that she is supremely overdressed. 

The gown she wears is meant to intimidate and make her stand out. It's too revealing compared to what the other girls are wearing, but she doesn't care. The dress is long and reaches past her ankles, brushing against the floor with every step she takes. It's tight- almost breathless- around her waist and is lined with chains that loop around the fabric. The top half of her dress can be considered scandalous, a chocker cut against her throat with a wide slit starting at her collarbone and reaching just above her bellybutton, exposing her luscious cleavage that stands out because of the long golden necklace resting in between her breasts. 

She hears her mother's words in her mind as she sees the stares the Slytherin witches throw her and all she does is smile kindly at them in response. 

_Wear yourself with pride, Rosamaria. Do not be bashful for shining like the diamond you are. It's better to be remembered than forgotten._

"That dress really is lovely," Penelope whispers, taking a nervous sip of her champagne. "I don't think I'd have the confidence to pull that off."

Theodora nods her head rapidly as she stuffs down another crabcake. "Yeah. Remind me to look through your closet if we're ever invited to something like this again. I feel like a wilting flower over here."

"Nonsense," Rosamaria says, winking at both of them as she places her hands on their shoulders. "Both of you look wonderful. Do not concern yourself with the opinions of others, any of these boys would be lucky to have a dance with either of you."

And she means it, she really does. Her friends are lovely in their own ways. Penelope has wide dimples that appear when she smiles, and Theodora has beautiful golden hair that frames her bright blue eyes. She feels sad that they don't seem to realize how pretty they are, and that they focus too much on comparing themselves to others, but she smiles. 

As her new friends, she's sure she can fix that pesky issue with kind words of affirmation and praise because she truly wants them to see the best in themselves. She's never had genuine friends before, people who wanted to be near her for more than her status, and it's supremely refreshing. Her life in Britain is so startlingly different but supremely exciting. 

She goes to compliment the way Penelope has done her hair until two familiar boys pop up in front of them. 

"Rosamaria!" Rykin says, approaching her from one side as Rolin comes upon her other side. "You look beautiful tonight."

She smiles politely at them with a quick nod. "Thank you, Rykin."

"Care for something to drink?" Rolin says, handing her a chalice filled with brown liquid, despite the fact that she already has a drink in her other hand. 

Rosamaria squints at the cup, swirls it under her nose, and shakes her head, not doubting at all that it contains some sort of _surprise_ meant to make her more docile to their advances. "I think I prefer the champagne Abraxas brought me." She looks to her left. "Have you met my friends? Penelope Patil and Theodora Clearwater?"

Both witches in question blush when the twins recognize their existence. Even though Rykin and Rolin rub Rosamaria the wrong way, there is no denying that the twins are a rather attractive pair- smooth black hair, dangerously green eyes, and pretty pink lips. 

"Pleasure," Rykin says with a sneer, his eyes trailing Penelope's second-hand dress before turning back to Rosamaria. "So, Rosamaria-"

"You boys scram! Go find some other girls to terrorize!"

A girl shoves herself in between the two boys, her movements slightly awkward and revealing that she's more than wankered at this point. 

Rolin pouts at her. "Always ruining the fun, Mads."

Madelina snorts and wags her fingers at the twins. "I don't quite care for the fun you two boys always seem to whip up. I hear Calliope is looking for the two of you, something about a triple threat?"

"Really?" Rykin sings, nudging his twin's shoulder. "You up for another round?"

Rolin smirks. "Always, brother."

Rosamaria watches as Madelina's eyes widen in horror and she almost throws her drink at them. " _Ew_! You mean the three of you-"

Rylin winks at her "It's all-"

"-in a day's work," Rolin finishes, tugging his brother away as they search for their next prey. 

Madelina takes a quick swig of her drink before turning to Rosamaria. "Those boys...ghastly, am I right?"

"Madelina Chapman, correct?" Rosamaria asks, leaning down to press her cheeks against the young witch's. "It is nice to see you again."

"You too! I was honestly surprised to see you here, but I'm so glad you accepted Abraxas's invitation!" Madelina's eyes then widen with excitement as she looks at the forgotten Ravenclaws standing beside Rosamaria. "Oh, and you brought friends! Welcome!"

As Madelina embraces both of the nervous-looking Ravenclaws, Rosamaria can't help but smile. She had barely met Madelina, only catching a glimpse of her this morning, but she's already extremely fond of her. Madelina seems to have this air of warmth as she compliments Theodora's dress and asks Penelope how she managed to style her hair. She's nothing like the other Slytherin girls who sneer at their direction and whisper violent gossip between each other. 

As she watches the three witches, she feels a light tap on her shoulder. She turns to face Nott who wears green dress robes and smiles sheepishly at her. 

"Nott," she greets, kissing his cheeks. "You look nice tonight."

He doesn't, not really, but Rosamaria doesn't say this. Nott's robes are slightly too big for his frame, and his hair is rather unkempt as if he hadn't bothered brushing it. His mannerisms are disheveled as well, fumbling feet, jittery fingers, and twitchy eyes. 

"Care for a dance?" he asks, holding his hand out. Rosamaria doesn't particularly want to but she doesn't want to be rude. However, before her hand makes contact with his, a smooth voice interrupts its path. 

"Mind if I step in?"

Tom Riddle's voice sends a traitorous shiver down her spine. She hesitates just a second before turning to the Head Boy who is smiling sweetly at her, betraying his violently handsome features. Unlike Nott, Tom has taken the time to look absolutely exceptional. His hair is still curly but it's been tamed and gelled to hang purposefully on his forehead. His silver dress robes fit him like they've been tailored perfectly for his figure. His hands aren't shaky or nervous as they reach out for her and wrap gently around her wrist. 

"Oh," she says and she can't help that her voice wavers a bit. "Well, Nott actually-"

"I'm sure he doesn't mind." His voice is smooth as he looks down at his friend. "Nott?"

Rosamaria can see the suppressed irritation in Nott's eyes, but he steps back immediately. "Not at all, Tom."

Tom smirks down at him and twists his hand so that it's holding Rosamaria's. "Shall we?"

All she can do is nod as he leads them toward the middle of the dance floor. She looks back, a fleeting second of worry about her friends coursing over her, but the worry is dismissed when she sees they are laughing at something Madelina has said. 

Once they reach the center of the room, he immediately grips her waist and pulls her flush against him, forcing her hand to rest on his shoulder as he joins their other hands. He's tall, not much taller than her, but just tall enough so that if he were to lean forward just a bit, he could rest his chin on the crown of her head. 

Pressed against him this way, she feels thoroughly overwhelmed by her body's response to him. The hand that's digging into her waist leaves the spot almost deliciously numb. The hand she's holding is rough, in contrast to the smoothness she expected, and fits perfectly in hers. His chest is hard, solid, and her head desperately wants to rest against it and hear his heartbeat. 

She brushes these sinful sensations away. She hasn't been exposed to many young men her age. Usually, in the past, she's only held the company of women, and she assumes that her response has something to do with that. 

"So, tell me about yourself."

The rumble of his voice makes her lick her lips and makes her toes curl. 

_Coño, this is going to be a long night._

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Tom isn't looking at the young woman in his arms who's pressed close to his chest as a song commences. His eyes scan the room and his lips tug up when he sees the jealous expressions on the Slytherin boys' faces. 

He knows that they're all dying to take his place, dying to hold the beautiful Ravenclaw in his arms, but he's denying them of their wishes. Tom, as usual, has everything that everyone wants and the thrill of that feeds him. 

When Tom had spotted Rosamaria at the opposite end of the room with the two meek little Ravenclaws, his jaw had dropped. His feet had willed themselves to her before his mind had a second to reprimand them. He had stolen her from Nott without a second thought, smiling pleasantly when his weak follower conceded without even so much of a fight. 

She looks like perfection, settled on a silver platter, begging to be served to him. Her dress is magnificent and regal and nothing like what the other girls are wearing. The fabric that hugs her waist feels so smooth under his hand, so deceptively strong for what little material there is. He holds her other hand and he can feel her thick golden bangles brushing against his wrist with every step they take. 

He looks down at her but she doesn't notice because her eyes are set on his chest and refuse to meet his. The absence of cloth between her breasts is tantalizing, just begging for someone to plant their hands on her smooth tan chest and push the fabric over to revel in the teased secret it hides. 

Yes, she's beautiful, there's no doubt about this. However, he is captivated by her because of more than just that. It's the fact that she doesn't seem to care in the slightest that she's shining like a diamond amongst lumps of coal. It's the fact that she's so shameless at displaying so much skin, at being at the center of everyone's fantasies. It's because- very much like him- she is the center of everyone's fantasies. 

"So, tell me about yourself," he says, focusing on her eyes so she doesn't catch him staring so blatantly at her chest. 

She lets out something between a giggle and a snort. "Usually a gentleman would ask a question."

Her tone isn't dismissive, but instead playful. She finally brings her head up and purses her lips at him, her eyes twinkling with humor. He wonders where that nervous little witch went, the one that was so flighty around him. The woman he holds in his arms is confident and teasing, and it's not exactly what he expected. 

And he can't decide if he wants to snap her neck or throw her against a wall and replace that smirk with his lips. 

"Fine," he relents, unconsciously tugging her closer. "Your family then."

She tenses in his arms and he can see that he's struck a nerve. Those playful lips have set in a tight line and her eyes are hard as stone. 

"Gone," she snaps, clenching her jaw before relaxing her face and smiling. "What about you?"

"What would you like to know?"

She licks her red-stained lips and cocks her head. "I don't know. Tell me something about yourself."

He laughs subtly when she throws her words back at him and he sees the opportunity presented to him. "Actually, I am curious about something."

"Mhm," she hums, briefly looking around the room and smiling at someone. "What about?"

He smiles as he leans down without her expecting it and barely brushes his lips against her ear. "What happened earlier today?"

His cheek is almost grazing her jaw and he hears a soft hiss escape her lips. He pulls back because he wants to see that beautifully startled expression but he's only greeted with a dismissive shrug. 

"Perhaps breakfast did not sit well," she replies, flicking her eyebrows in disinterest. "I would not know."

Tom narrows his eyes at her and his grip on her waist tightens. "I think you're lying to me, Lady Rosamaria."

"Really?" she throws back, obviously upset by his use of her title, but it only shows in a quick flash in her eyes. He likes the fact that he's struck another chord, and he likes that her anger causes her accent to become choppy. "I suppose it is a pity you can not be sure of it."

Tom wants to laugh because he certainly _can_ be sure of it. He's so young but he's already a master Legilimens and he takes every opportunity to use his newfound magic. He makes sure she isn't looking directly at him, that would be too obvious, and he dives into her mind. 

He's shocked at what he sees. 

Normally, he immediately finds what he's looking for, always. It's always easy, it's always simple, and it never wavers. 

Except for Rosamaria Adeladia _fucking_ Marquez. 

He gets lost in her memories as images flash in his mind. 

Her, holding a basket on her hip as she picks flowers. 

Her, running along a field with children. 

Her, sitting at a dining room table as people serve her. 

He sees all the wonderful moments in her life, beautiful little mosaics that are layered perfectly for him, but that's not what he wants. 

He wants to find what happened this morning, but he can't. He tries to push away all the useless sentiment, all the smiles, all the laughs, but he can't. 

Before he knows it, he feels her retracting from him and he immediately pulls her back. 

She raises her eyebrow. "The song is over. I believe this is where we part."

"But what if I intend on keeping you?" The words are out of Tom's mouth before he can fully form them in his mind, a weak little slip of his subconscious. 

She looks up at him through her lashes and smiles wildly like a little minx. "And what makes you think you have earned the right?"

Her choice of words is a challenge to him. Tom Riddle does not have to _earn_ anything, everything is his right by birth. Everything is ripe for his picking and submission, but she seems to believe this isn't the case for her. 

His hands tighten on her waist and he licks his lips when he feels her let out a shaky breath that smells too much like honey. "If you haven't picked it up already, you'll find that what I want, I get?"

Rosamaria bites her bottom lip, taunting him with something he doesn't possess, and _tsks_ at him. "Hopefully, that is not the case. This has been lovely but I will take my leave."

He watches her walk away- walk away from _him_ \- and a sense of frustration rushes through him. He thinks of the way her body felt against his, the way her little breaths teased him with flowers, and the way he was tempted to bite her lip until it bled. 

_What I want, I get_ , he thinks to himself, shaking his head with renewed determination. And he wants Rosamaria Adeladia Marquez, for what exactly? 

He doesn't quite yet know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! I'm gonna be honest real quick because I've been thinking about this all week. This is not going to be a slow burn fic. Trust me, I LOVE slow burns, but this isn't that type of story. I think that everything happening quick and messy and without warning is very much Tom Riddle, and it's very much in accordance with her as a Seer. 
> 
> I won't say anything else, for obvious reasons, but I think you'll like what's to come!


	4. Chapter 4

  
  
_THE FIRST WEEK OF CLASS IS- PREDICTABLY- DULL._ Tom is already at the top of his class, even only after a few days. His only competition for the bragging rights of the top academic student is a prickly little Ravenclaw whose nose is coated in shit. Tom is overeager, and sometimes he does kiss up to his professors, but at least he has his dignity.

He is hoping for more excitement, something to differentiate his final year at Hogwarts- the last year before his plan can fully come to fruition- but the excitement he seeks has been taken from him. 

Taken by a particular Spanish witch with too-long hair, chocolate doe eyes, and a nasty distaste of him. He hasn't been able to talk to Rosamaria, and it's eating at him. It's not like they don't see each other plenty, they do have the same classes after all, but she's been avoiding him like the Dragon Pox. He'll think he has her cornered, but the second he looks away, she's gone. She's been eating her lunches and dinners at different times than he has, and he's suspecting that she purposefully goes in extra early to avoid seeing him. 

It's maddening, and it's beginning to piss him off, and if anybody knows anything it's that you don't piss off Tom _fucking_ Marvolo Riddle. 

There in Potions right now, Tom's specialty and he is still exceedingly annoyed that Slughorn won't let him partner with Rosamaria.

_Well, old boy, Cygnus is a lost cause, isn't he? I think he needs the guidance of my best student._

Tom had given him a begrudging smile and watched as he paired Rosamaria with Madelina, which wasn't the worst-case scenario since he's sure he can get the overtly-kind Slythering to talk.

Tom's gaze is focused on his Draught of Living Death which will no doubt come out as perfection. He is just in the middle of preparing the sloth brain when Cygnus's annoying chatter interrupts his focus, and the brain slips through his finger.

"Oh, sorry!" Cygnus flusters, leaning down to pick the slimy thing off the floor, smiling gingerly as he brushes away the dust on it. "Five-second rule, yeah?"

Tom groans as he continues his preparation, muttering a quick cleaning spell under his breath. "Remind me why I've allowed you to be my partner when anyone else could suffice?"

"I'm sorry, Tom," Cygnus mumbles, scratching the back of his neck as he looks down at the floor. "I didn't mean to bump into you. I've just been all worked up today."

Tom sighs. _People_. They always so desperately need to voice their useless problems, and his Knights are no exception. He knows the Cygnus is fishing for Tom's concern- of which he has none- but he relents before the acne-riddled teen bursts into tears, he'll be more tolerable if he's not dripping snot and clutching his robes.

"What?" he snaps.

"Walburga's upset that our family has set her up to marry Orion," Cygnus confesses and this is news to Tom. "I think she was hoping for one of the Lestranges but their father doesn't think it's a suitable match for either of them..."

Tom doesn't find this surprising, he also doesn't find it suprising that Walburga has been paired up with her atrociously smelly cousin. "Your sister isn't a natural beauty, and she's too self-absorbed and shrewd for her own good. She should be happy that _someone_ is willing to marry her."

"Mother hasn't chosen anyone for me yet, although I'm sure she fancies Druella," Cygnus adds, a wistful little look in his eyes. Druella isn't any better, and it's hard to imagine that the two wicked witches aren't sisters. They're a terrible company, dull conversationalist, and lack the common decency to act like ladies. "Both Rosier and Nott seem to be keen on Rosamaria- granted they barely know the witch- but they're waiting to see if she's a pureblood or not."

Tom's lucky that he catches his fists clenching before it can destroy the sloth brain. He doesn't understand why it enrages him, hearing that two of his Knights are already thinking of proposals for the Spanish witch. Tom never wants to get married, he doesn't really see the point. It's a useless ceremony that binds one weak wizard with one weak witch. However, he can't help the jolt of possessiveness that courses through him.

"My Lord..." Cygnus trails off and he's smart to do so. No doubt he notices the way Tom's face flushed red and the little vein on his neck jutted out. He only ever dares to address Tom by that title when he is wary of his wrath.

And Tom sees _red_.

"They stay away from her," he orders, staring at Cygnus until he's sure the wizard is close to soiling himself. "You all stay away from her until I have said differently."

Cygnus looks like he has a question on the tip of his tongue but he's smart and keeps his mouth shut. Tom huffs as he adds the Sopophorous bean's juice into the potion, but his eyes wander up to the other side of the room.

Rosamaria is sitting with Madelina, both of them chatting away with smiles as they stir their potion, giggling about something he doesn't know. Rosamaria has her hair pinned up behind her shoulders and he can see the golden earrings dangling from her ears. He marvels at how she even makes the dumpy school uniforms look like they belong on the cover of _Witch Weekly_ \- the way her school socks stop just right at the middle of her thigh when she adjusts her skirt and her buttoned shirt hugs her breasts. 

He sees that she goes to reach for the sloth brain until her hands stop and her eyes glaze over.

He furrows his eyebrows because he recognizes that face. It's the very same wide-eyed look that she had with him over a week ago. He can hear Cygnus speaking beside him but he waves the boy away, waiting to see what's going to happen.

When Rosamaria finally snaps out of her daze, she looks around the classroom wildly before zeroing in on Theodora Clearwater and Declan Rosier. She looks like she's going to say something, but she doesn't. She stands, almost as if she's waiting, until a loud explosion forces Tom's eyes away from her.

As if on an unusual cue, Declan's potion explodes and sends splashes of dark liquid to Theodora's face. She's screaming and that's all Tom can hear. Before even Slughorn can react, Rosamaria is already at her side, hushing the girl and holding her hair back away from her boiling face.

Tom doesn't care about the half-blood Ravenclaw or the fact that Declan is sure to get a week's worth of detention because this is obviously his fault. His eyes stay locked on Rosamaria.

She's frantic as she all but orders Declan to help her lift her friend off the ground, and she's filled with too much authority as she tells- not _asks_ \- Slughorn that she's going to the infirmary with her.

Tom doesn't care about any of that because it all suddenly clicks.

Rosamaria Adeladia Marquez is a _Seer_.  
  
  
  
  
  


━━━━━━━━━━━  
  
  
  
  
  


Rosamaria is in the infirmary and leans on her elbow as she stares down at her crying friend. Theodora's pretty face is covered with severe burns that won't kill her but won't go away for a few weeks. It seems that the idiot Declan hadn't properly prepped his powdered root of asphodel, and it led to an unusually violent chemical reaction that had turned the potion into an acid.

Rosamaria wants to cry with Theodora as she strokes her hair because she could have prevented this. She was right there, she _Saw_ it unfold before her eyes, but she did nothing but wait for it to happen.

_If you can see what's about to happen right in front of you, shouldn't you try to change it?_

She sighs because she knows what the answer to the question should be, but after today, it's becoming harder and harder to say it with conviction.

The Sight is a _bitch_. She knows that, no matter what, she couldn't have prevented the potion from exploding. She knows that no matter what, she couldn't have saved Theodora weeks of embarrassment.

However, could she have? Some prophecies and some visions are set in stone, but she's heard stories of others that can change rapidly, at whim, and from one different act or choice. Could she be the factor that can change someone's fate? Does she have the authority to butt into someone's life?

It's becoming harder to answer her question, not only because of Theodora's deformed face but also because of Tom Riddle.

It's a messy situation she finds herself in. She avoided Tom all week long and she had no more visions of that terrible future. She just needs to stay away from him, and just let things work out the way they need to work out.

But, it's her death she's thinking about. Letting things just _go with the flow_ is- ironically- killing her slowly.

Her internal monologue ends when Madelina bursts through the infirmary doors and throws herself at her. Madelina clutches her tightly, tears flowing through her cheek which is odd since she's only had one conversation with Theodora.

"Oh, Theo," Madelina whines, adopting a nickname that doesn't exist as she tears herself away from Rosamaria to plop down on the bed. "Your poor face!"

Theodora, whose tears were subsiding, suddenly starts to cry once more. Madelina shoots Rosamaria a weary look, to where the Spanish witch can only pinch the bridge of her nose with a shake of her head. 

"It will cure itself," Rosamaria assures Theodora, squeezing her hand lightly. "Do not worry-"

Theodora snaps her arms down in fury. "In _four weeks_ , Ros! I have to walk around the castle like this for _four weeks_! This is so humiliating! I hate Declan Rosier!"

"That makes two of us," Madelina huffs. "That boy is a right git if you ask me, but don't you worry. I happen to be an expert at glamours and I'll get you all fixed up so you look just as beautiful before all this hideousness happened!"

Rosamaria laughs as Theodora nods her head through snotty sniffles. Madelina winks at her and sits on her knees on her bed, producing her wand and pointing it at Theodora's forehead, then her nose, and then her lips. A few minutes later, and after some pretty incredible skills, Theodora looks just like she did before Declan Rosier almost ruined her life.

"Madelina!" Theodora shrieks, looking at herself in the mirror with a wide smile. "I can't believe you did it!"

Madelina throws her bushy blonde hair over her shoulder. "I may not get the best grades, but no one can beat my glamours. Now, enough of this crying. Shall we get some ice cream?"

Rosamaria smiles as she cradles Theodora's happy face in her chest. She warms at the sight of Madelina, overjoyed at her skills, and leans forward to grab her hand. She is going to be great friends with her. 

"Yes, Madelina. Ice cream sounds wonderful."


	5. Chapter 5

_ROSAMARIA LOVES THE FEELING OF BEING COMPLETELY SUBMERGED IN WATER, TRAPPED UNDERNEATH THE FLUFFY BUBBLES, AND SURROUNDED BY ROSE PETALS AND LAVENDER OILS._

Her long hair is gathered in a messy bun on the base of her neck, and her fingers push and pull the bubbles around her. She stills, closes her eyes, and tips her head back as she charms the water to stay at the perfect scorching temperature and steam fills the room. 

The sun is shining brightly through the window opposite her, and she bathes in its rays, trying to see if it's possible to retain her tan complexion despite the unforgiving British weather. She reminds herself to thank the Head Girl for mentioning this secluded bathroom hidden within the maze of hallways in the school.

She has had a long week. Classes are fine, she rather enjoys them really, but she's not used to the academic structure. She's not used to having to fight for the best seat in the class or listen to the professor repeat the _same exact thing_ three times because the Hufflepuff behind her didn't get it the first time. Besides that, there are several activities that occur around the castle, and Theodora and Penelope had dragged her to all of them- magic chest tournaments, Hogsmeade trips, Quidditch matches, Gobstone club- and the list goes on and on. 

She admits that she misses the peace and quiet her life used to offer her. So, she was exceptionally pleased to have a moment to herself to unwind and relax. 

"What are you doing in here?"

She spoke too soon. 

Rosamaria recognizes the voice before she sees his face. She turns around to look at Tom Riddle clad in his green pajamas with a towel slung over his shoulder. She hums as she lifts herself up slightly so she can perch her elbows on the edge of the tub while still keeping her chest under the water. 

"I am taking a bath," she replies as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. 

He grits his teeth but makes no move to step forward. "No one said you were allowed up here."

Rosamaria flushes but not because of the hot steam billowing up from the water. The Head Girl had offered up the location of the bathroom, and she hadn't mentioned that only specific people were allowed in. "I'm sorry, I did not know."

Rosamaria tips her head to the side and is surprised that Tom isn't responding. She watches the way his eyes seem to be glued to the floor. She doesn't know him very well, but she knows him enough to suspect he isn't bashful. He had no problem getting handsy and ogling her at the Slytherin party. It only takes her a moment to realize what's keeping him so silent. 

"Are you not going to bathe?" she asks, smiling sweetly at him as he raises his head, finding herself supremely satisfied that his cheeks are tinged red. 

He clenches his jaw and the grip on his towel tightens. "You're in there."

"I forget you Brits are shy," she says, shaking her head as she turns back around and resubmerges herself in the water, closing her eyes. "Well, I will not be done for a bit. So, you can wait if you would like, or you could just come in."

She understands that it sounds a lot like a proposition, inviting him into the bath with her, but to her it's nothing. The bath is large enough to fit up to twenty people without having anyone even touch each other. The water is deep and the top is covered with a thick layer of bubbles. 

Truthfully, she begins to second-guess her words when she hears no movement behind her. She has resolved herself to avoid Tom, but fate once again brings them together. She admits that it was amusing seeing the sheepish look on his face, almost embarrassment. Tom Riddle always exudes power, and for once she feels like she has the upper-hand. 

Her breath hitches when she hears the distinct sloshes of water and she waits a moment before opening her eyes. Tom couldn't be farther away from her, backed up on the other side of the tub, and throwing daggered- eyes her way. 

She simply smiles in return as she picks up her soap and begins to lather her arms. 

"You brought a book to the bath."

His voice makes her hand stop and she looks over her shoulder. She smiles once again as she coats her arm with water. "Just some light reading."

He scoots over a bit so he can catch the title. " _Ravenclaw Legacies, A History_?"

"What?" she asks innocently, pursing her lips in confusion. "I just want to know more about my house...such a strange concept. I am not used to this type of structure."

She looks at him and he seems to be debating whether or not to speak. "What are you used to then?"

It's such a genuine question and she finds that any nerves she had around him fade away. It's a painful topic, speaking about her past, but she's always been an honest person. Maybe if she gives him a bit of information about herself, he'll decide he's not interested and lay off her. "Did Dippet tell you anything about my situation?"

"No," Tom says with a shake of his head, his eyes staring at the trickle of water she can feel slide down her neck. "He was rather hushed about the details."

"I had a governess growing up since there are no magical schools in Spain."

"Couldn't you have just gone to another school?" Tom questions and she can see that he's a bit shocked that she hadn't had a formal education. 

"I was in line to be a Duchess, so I decided to stay behind."

"I'm not aware of any wizards that hold noble positions."

Rosamaria sucks in a quiet breath as she moves her sponge to her neck. "My father..." she trails off, not ready to voice the fact that he is gone. "I am a half-blood."

He notices the way her voice falters and it makes her heartbeat quicken. She hopes that he doesn't put the pieces together, or that he doesn't press the issue further, and he doesn't. 

She continues cleaning herself, suddenly eager to leave the bath, not believing what possessed her to think it was a good idea. She's so caught up with herself, that she didn't notice that he's now right beside her, his body just an arms-length away. His eyes are hooded, and if could have been misconstrued for lust, but it's something else entirely. 

"How long have you known you were a Seer?"

Her head snaps up and she feels pieces of her hair escape from her bun. She opens her mouth but quickly shuts it. This isn't good, this isn't good at all. She wonders how exactly he put the came to the- true- conclusion and she knows she isn't helping the situation by sitting mute. She shakes her head dismissively, lets out a little scoff, and goes to leave but a sharp grasp on her wrist doesn't allow her to go anywhere. 

"Did I say you could leave?" Tom hisses, pulling her closer to him so that their heads are almost touching. 

Rosamaria chuckles despite the fear she feels in her veins and despite the hard grip on her wrist. "So, this is what you have been hiding? You were rather charming at the Slytherin party, but I knew there had to be more than that."

Tom relaxes his grip but he doesn't let her go. He smirks at her, almost mockingly. "You find me charming?"

"It is hard not to," she admits, licking her lips that suddenly feel too dry. Now that he's up close to her, she can see all the details she had missed before. 

She can only see the top of his chest, but the smooth surface is almost stone-like. The steam has fussed his hair and it's a curly mess, but it has an almost boyish quality to it. His eyes, at first they looked like simple uninteresting brown, but she can see now that there are several different shades and layers that almost swirl around. His lips are parted and she hadn't realized how pink they are. 

His fingers let go of her wrist, and she goes to summon her robe before she feels him brush his knuckles against her forearm. She looks up at him and she can see his hooded-lids following a little droplet of water that trickles down her collarbone. 

"Be a good little witch," he whispers, leaning down so that his nose touches her temples, and her body shudders when she feels their thighs press together. "Tell me what you Saw that day. You know what I'm talking about."

She swallows harshly and she wants to move, but she can't. She can't because Tom's eyes are fully dilated and his hand is now wrapped around her throat. She assumes it's meant to be threatening, but it doesn't feel like it. He brushes his thumb against her jaw and forces her closer to him. 

"I didn't See _anything_ ," she hisses, but it's lacking conviction. She can't think when he's touching her- when their nude bodies are so close together that all it would take is one hard tug and she would be on his lap. 

He pulls back and trails his nose down her face, resting his lips just at the corner of her jaw. " _Liar_. You know, I'm not used to having people defy me."

"You must think highly of yourself. I am not defying you," she breathes, closing her eyes when his grip on her throat tightens just a bit. "I am being honest. I did not See anything."

She tries to turn her face away from him because she needs to breathe and she can't breathe when it seems like he's sucking all the oxygen out of her. He doesn't seem to like this and his other hand reaches up and tangles in her hair. He's nearly leaning over her now, pushing her against the edge of the tub that digs painfully into her back, and if moves just a bit closer his pelvis would be directly on hers, and their chests would be pressed together. 

"Why don't I believe you, _Lady_ Rosamaria," he chuckles. She follows his trailing eyes and sees that he's staring at the rapidly disappearing bubbles covering her breasts. 

He moves the hand on her throat and starts caressing her shoulder, fingering her collarbone, and it seems like he has another sinful destination in mind. 

"Tom..."

But his hand stops and her mind clears when they hear the door to the bathroom open. Thankfully, this forces Tom's eyes away from her to look at the intruder, and it gives her enough time to summon her robe and slip out from his grasp.

As she's running, she wants to hex herself into oblivion because her cheeks are red, her heart is fluttering, and her thighs are quivering. 

And not because of his threat. 

━━━━━━━━━━━

Tom paces in his room, his clothes wet and sticky against his skin from his haste to get dressed. 

He thinks back to a few minutes ago when he was submerged in a hot pool of water with a very naked Rosamaria almost quivering underneath him. He tugs at his hair as he thinks about the way her tan skin looked covered in a thick layer of steam, how the droplets of water teased him as they dripped down her cleavage and disappeared under the water. 

He knows she's lying. He can't prove it, but he knows it. For Salazar's sake, he can't prove it because every time he tries to use Legilimency on her, he gets lost in her mind. 

He feels his stomach tighten with unusual anxiety and his body feels tense, too tense. He tries to clear his mind, focus on how to get her to tell him about her Sight, but he can't. 

All he thinks is how strong he felt when his large hand covering her throat, at the way she nearly moaned when he tightened his grip, and at how the clearing of the bubbles had allowed him to see the top of the swell of her breasts. 

It's a fantasy he's having, and he feels like a bloody fool. He feels like Nott for Salazar's _fucking_ sake, but he can't help it. 

He has no interest in things like this. Sex is sex and it clouds peoples' judgment. Sure, a year or so ago he had been curious about the experience and given in, but he hadn't found it rewarding. He had even obliviated the witch right after, just to make sure that news of the loss of his virginity didn't find its way around the castle. The entire event had been...mediocre. He had felt an ounce of pleasure, but it had been overshadowed by the clear degradation of the act. It was uncomfortable, filled with awkward noises, and a little too common for his taste. 

Every now and then, the urge to plunge himself into something warm and tight consumes him- he is still human after all-but he takes care of that issues only when necessary. 

He feels too hot, his clothes are too sticky, he's hardening at such an incredible speed that he feels like he'll burst out of his pants. He can't help himself as he sits on his bed, the satin sheets cool as he quickly unfastens his belt and shoves his pants and underwear down. 

His hand immediately latches onto his hard length and the second he delivers one smooth stroke, the dam in his mind breaks, and the image of one particular witch floods him.

He pictures her naked, covered in water, licking her lips, arching against him, moaning his name, screaming when he plunges his teeth in her neck. His hand speeds up, demanding some sort of satisfaction at giving in to his primal urges. 

He throws his head back and imagines himself bending her over a desk, ripping her knickers off, exposing what he can only imagine is an exquisite arse, and pounding into her until she's begging him to come. 

His thighs clench at the thought, and he can almost feel the blood pounding in his veins. 

He pictures her raking her pretty nails against his chest, pictures her getting down on her knees for him, pictures her hot mouth wrapped around his cock, pictures-

And he's there. He feels the white-hot sting of release shudder over him, and he's thankful for his private room because he lets out such a pure growl as his hot fluid coats his stomach as he gives himself a few more lazy tugs. 

All he can think about as he slumps back on his bed is a dangerous but sinfully delicious thought. 

He doesn't just want to ruin her. He doesn't just want to use her powers to his advantage. 

No, he wants to make her as dirty as he is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooo things are sure to be heating up from here!  
> So, as you remember, I am in the process of transitioning my Wattpad works onto Ao3 because I love this platform and there are so many great stories on here!  
> For now, these are going to be the only chapters up. I'm going to give myself a few days and see how this story is received!  
> I hope y'all like it! I'll see you in a week!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter in the books! I've decided that I'm just going to continuously post the chapters I've already have written, probably to encourage me to keep writing every day despite the demands of my job. 
> 
> Please, I'm crazy, don't encourage me (but like, for real, please do)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this and let me know what you think!

_"WHY ARE WE EATING UP HERE?"_

Madelina stops midbite and smiles sheepishly at Rosamaria, wiping away a trickle of onion soup that's fallen on her chin. "I like it here. There's something special about seeing the stars from here, and not from Dippet's enchanted ceiling."

Rosamaria goes along with it. She looks around the Astronomy Tower and she has to admit that it's peaceful up here. The moon is the only source of light in the darkness as they sit on the rails of the balcony, looking up at the night sky as their feet dangle over the edge. 

"Yes," Rosamaria agrees, taking a sip of her pumpkin juice. "It is nice."

Madelina hums in agreement. "It's also very quiet up here."

"Yes, quiet is nice."

"You know...private..."

"Mhm."

"Rosamaria, are you going to tell me what you saw?"

Rosamaria coughs, choking on her pumpkin juice and her face contorting in horror as she looks at Madelina. " _¿Qué? "_

A million scenarios begin to run through her mind. Madelina is a Slytherin. The Slytherins are all overenthusiastic friends of Tom. Tom thinks- okay _knows_ \- she's a Seer. Madelina knows Tom-

"Oh, come off it with that Spanish," Madelina laughs with a roll of her eyes, seeming to ignore the fear in Rosamaria's eyes. "You know what I'm talking about."

Rosamaria gulps and she's suddenly reminded of the presence of her wand pressing against her stomach. Her hand unconsciously makes its way to her wand as her fingers wrap around the hilt. "Do I?"

"Well, yeah!" Madelina chuckles, not at all aware that Rosamaria is about two seconds away from obliviating her. "You've been so wound up since Potions the other day. You should be happy that I fixed Theo's face, but you're still so tense. You were looking their way when it happened, do you think Rosier put something in that potion on purpose?" 

_Oh._ Rosamaria breathes a sigh of relief and her fingers release her wand. She brings her hand up to her fluttering chest while she regains her senses. Madelina doesn't know about her Sight, she's just an observant witch who noticed Rosamaria's quiet anxiety. _Damn, Riddle_ , she thinks running her hand through her hair. He's turning her into an anxiety-filled-obliviating monster. 

"I do not think Declan did it on purpose," she says, thinking about the gangly wizard who she can already tell has fewer brain cells than a Fire Crab. 

"Okay," Madelina says with a cock of her head. "Well, if that's not bothering you, what is? Something is. Although my parents deny it, and I haven't had a vision, and it's pretty far fetched, I think I'm like 1/7th part Seer. I _know_ things."

Rosamaria has to resist scoffing. 

_The irony_.

"It is nothing for you to worry about." Rosamaria licks her lips. Madelina isn't nearly as daft as one would originally think. She gives her a tight-lipped smile and shakes her head. "Maybe I will tell you when day when we are friends."

"But, we are friends..."

Rosamaria flinches at her tone. Madelina isn't angry, but her sadness shows in her wide blue eyes and the slight tremble in her lip. Rosamaria frowns because her intention wasn't to disregard the nice witch, but she doesn't want to explain the source of her sour mood. How would she even begin to?

It's already a burden having to carry the Sight, and it would be inhumane to pass on the knowledge of that to someone else, and that might not even be a good idea. It's such a personal thing, such a daunting power, and many Seers in the past have been prosecuted for the gift. 

There are people who would see to abuse her Sight, and she doesn't doubt that Tom Riddle is one of those people. Although Madelina is a sweet girl, Rosamaria has observed that Tom has a way of getting people under his thumb, willingly or unwillingly. 

The lonely witch inside of her urges her to tell _someone_ , to share the burden, and to accept the comfort, but the Ravenclaw in her doesn't think it's wise. 

"We barely know each other." She settles for a half-lie, a way to avoid having to detail her weird relations with Riddle or her obnoxious gift. 

"Well, I consider you a friend," Madelina says, seemingly trying to brush the comment off. "I've been around fake people my entire life, people I'm _supposed_ to be friends with, even if I don't particularly like their company. I mostly spend my time around Walburga and Druella, and they're absolutely horrid. You, on the other hand, are very pleasant to be around. You're the friend I want, not the friend I'm required to have."

Rosamaria smiles and she feels a type of warmth she's never felt before. She never truly had any close friends that she had confided in, nobody that wanted her for more than her title or her status. She likes Theodora, and Penelope, and Madelina, but she hasn't let them in. 

She sighs, realizing that a part of moving on is opening up. "I am assuming you are curious about why I am at Hogwarts."

Madelina immediately perks up and Rosamaria's suspicions are correct. "Rather curious, really. I just figured you'd open up when you wanted to."

 _This is safe_ , she thinks to herself. _Painful but safe_. 

"As you can tell by my accent, I was born and raised in Spain," she begins, a quiet smile overtaking her face as she fingers the medallion hanging around her neck. "I loved it there. My father was a Duke, and my mother was the most powerful woman I've ever met. It was such a different life than the one I have here."

"That sounds lovely," Madelina smiles. "But then why did you decide to come here?"

Rosamaria gulps. This is where the difficult part begins, explaining her situation. This is where the pain sets in.

When she had fled to Hogwarts and sought out Headmaster Dippet, she hadn't _told_ him anything. She wasn't in any state to. She had produced a vial of her memories and gestured to his Pensieve where he had deposited the copies and viewed without hesitation. 

This is the first time she'll ever voice it, that truth that haunts her dreams and that can't be denied. 

The truth that they're _gone_. 

"Things...things happened-" _I happened_ "-and the villagers found out that my mother and I were witches-" _because of me_. She chokes back a sob and tries to ignore the stinging in her eyes. This is so much harder than she had imagined. "They...um...they tried to burn as at the stake."

 _And it was my fault_. 

There are tears coating her cheeks, her breathing is becoming ragged, and it doesn't take her long to realize that she's having an anxiety attack. It surrounds her once again- the fire, the smoke, the hateful screams- and she can't breathe. 

She's not like this- trembling fingers and croaky breaths- she's a _Duchess_ and she never loses her composure. She is always in full control of herself but right now it seems like she's lost the wheel. Her head is hazy, she feels like she's going to throw up, and her vision becomes blurry. She barely recognizes that Madelina has thrown herself at her, cradling her head against her chest as she hushes her. 

"Oh, that's so horrible," Madelina cries, seemingly experiencing the event as if it were her own, not allowing Rosamaria to escape her grip. "I know how difficult that must have been Rosamaria, but nothing like that will _ever_ happen again."

Rosamaria sobs into her chest, an unbearable animalistic sob that she had not cried for her family after their death. The pain is all-consuming and it cuts at her heart, tearing it in half. However, Madelina's warm embrace, her whispers of reassurance, her calmness during this storm, begins to piece it back together again. 

It's not closure, not anywhere near that, but it's close _enough_. 

━━━━━━━━━━━

Tom grunts, shoving his face into his hands as Declan talks and talks and just won't stop _fucking_ talking. He understands that he needs to hold these bi-monthly meetings for his Knights- reaffirm their loyalty and interest of course- but that doesn't mean he enjoys them in the slightest. 

The plans are always so juvenile, cast a _Crucio_ every now and then, plot against some unsuspecting mudblood, reap some general havoc- these are things that feel degrading to Tom. His plan is grander than simply causing pain and humiliation, his plan goes beyond blood supremacy and wizarding hierarchy. But his Knights all have a specific bloodlust, so he allows them to play. 

He allows their frivolous cruelty because he needs Malfoy's ostentatious money, the Lestrange's grand reputation, Chapman's connections in the Ministry, Rosier's strings at the DMLE- he needs every single one of them. 

If he wants to achieve his goals, he needs them all, no matter how much that pains him. They are all going to guarantee him his _forever_. 

However, there is one thing they're all lacking. They have money, fame, prestige, connections, but they don't have the future. They don't have the ability to see obstacles coming before there is even a whiff of them and they don't have the capacity to twist the fabric of time. No, that advantage is being cradled in the tiny, delicate hands of a stubbornly-attractive Spanish witch. 

_Rosamaria Adeladia fucking Marquez_. 

His gut tightens at the thought of her. He wants her and he wants her bad. He wants that power at his mercy, at his fingertips, at his ready to use in whatever way he wants. What he doesn't want to voice is how much he wants _her_. He wants her plump lips trapped between his teeth, he wants his eyes boring into her chocolate orbs, he wants his fingers wrapped around her long hair. 

He hates it but he wants _all_ of her. Her heart, her body, her soul, and her power. 

Tom knows that he deserves the best life has to offer, and Rosamaria is like the finest wine in a vineyard. 

Finally, Declan shuts up, and Tom thanks Salazar for that. Their meeting is about to close, but Tom finds himself wanting to say just one more thing before they leave. 

"Rosamaria Adeladia Marquez." The words slip out of his tongue like sweet silk and he takes a moment to enjoy how it feels before continuing. 

Nott's interest immediately peaks up as he sits straight. "Yes, my Lord?"

Tom settles back on his seat, absentmindedly twirling his ring. "I want you all to keep an eye on her, but don't make it obvious. None of your lustful shite, either. I want reports of her comings and goings."

"W-why?" Nott stutters, his eyes gleaming with obvious disappointment and hesitation. 

Tom smiles cruelly as his imagination wanders. "She has something I want."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter!
> 
> I'd like to give a super thank you shoutout to Noble_Toes for pointing out that I accidentally double posted chapter 6 (yikes). Thank you for reaching out and catching that mistake!
> 
> Now here is the REAL chapter 7. Let me know what you think and y'all have an awesome day!

_ IT'S AN EXCEPTIONALLY NICE DAY  _ as Rosamaria walks side by side through Hogsmeade with Madelina Chapman. 

Over the past two weeks, things have been relatively calm. Rosamaria has had no more visions- which she is  _ severely  _ grateful for-and no close encounters with a certain Mr. Riddle. 

Granted, she's made a terrific friend out of Madelina Chapman and she- along with Theodora and Penelope- find that they're spending increasing time with the Slytherins because of this. Although this has put Rosamaria in close proximity with Tom, he hasn't spoken a word directly to her. 

She finds this extremely curious, watching as the gaggle of Slytherins walk ahead of her and Madelina. Tom isn't here but that doesn't mean that his presence is absent. 

Through all her time with the Slytherins, she has found that everyone is  _ extremely _ fond of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Cygnus and Orion always go on about how intelligent, cunning, and driven he is. Rykin and Rolan are always following behind him, just eager to do whatever he pleases. Half the time, Nott and Declan look as if they're quaking in their boots in his very presence. Astera, Walburga, and Druella all warn her that what Tom wants, Tom gets, and it makes her feel as if they know the nature of their relationship- if you can even call it that. 

Madelina let it slip a few days ago when they were studying for Defense Against the Dark Arts that Tom is a master of Legilimency, and that doesn't surprise her one bit. She's observed quite a bit in the time Tom has left her to her own devices. He always knows when Declan lies, when Nott's mind wanders, and when Abraxas is sex-deprived. Whenever Tom looks at her, she can almost sense it- him trying to work his way into her mind- but she never feels that soft tingle of fingers creeping around her skull. 

Walking alongside Madelina, Rosamaria can't help but wish that Theodora and Penelope were with her. Rosamaria likes the Slytherins- or at least tolerates most of them- and she has the wonderful ability to make her presence known in whatever social situation she is in, but that doesn't stop her from feeling slightly nauseous. 

"Why is everyone so tense?" Rosamaria asks her bushy-haired friend, looking wearily at the Slytherins in front of her that look as if they've smelt dragon dung. 

Madelina laughs silently to herself- like some inside joke- as she looks at Druella, Walburga, Astera, Abraxas, and Orion who walk silently and solemnly, ignoring just how beautiful the day is. 

"Where do I start?" Madelina giggles as she winds her arm through Rosamaria's. "Well, Druella is upset that her lovely fiance Cygnus and her brother can't join us today because they have detention with Professor Dumbledore for not-so accidentally hexing a First Year Gryffindor that spilled pumpkin juice on their school work. Astera is apparently withholding sex from Abraxas- even though they aren't supposed to have sex before they wed- because he has a special interest in you..."

Rosamaria chuckles, not out of an over-inflated ego, but simply out of confidence. "I do not blame him. I can not help the way I look."

"See, that's why I like you," Madelina cheers, tugging on her arm. "You're so confident in yourself, but I bet your heritage has everything to do with that. But, you're nice too, not like the rest of the girls in the group."

"One can be proud of their looks without having to be mean," Rosamaria says. "I never understood petty jealousy between women. We can all be beautiful, there is enough room in the sky for more than one star."

Madelina seems to like what Rosamaria has said, so she pulls her closer as if it's a privilege to be holding onto her silk-covered arm. "Okay, okay! So, um, who next? Oh, so Walburga and Orion are upset because it's been decided that they are set to marry at the end of the school year."

Rosamaria wrinkles her nose in disgust. "Are they not cousins?"

"Yes. So, you can see why they aren't too pleased. I think Walburga was hoping for someone a little bit higher up the social ladder, but you know as well as anyone that she can be a right bitch." 

Rosamaria laughs at the comment mostly because she can tell just how much Madelina likes to gossip, and just how much she despises the wicked Slytherin. "Okay, so if they do not like each other, why are they doing it? They are cousins, is that not frowned upon?"

"Not at all," Madelina replies quickly with wide confused eyes. "All of our group, well all of us _purebloods_ , we're all related in one way or another. Cantankerous has been writing a family directory for the Sacred Twenty-Nine-"

"The Sacred Twenty-Nine?"

Madelina nods rapidly. "Yes. I won't go through all the names but you have Chapman, Rosier, Black, Lestrange, Malfoy, Nott, Avery, Parkinson, Yaxely- you get the picture."

"I sure do," Rosamaria says. It doesn't go above her head that all the names Madelina listed off were Slytherins. "But I still do not understand. You still have not explained why they must marry between themselves, surely they can find love somewhere out of this...what did you call it? Sacred circle?"

Madelina raises her eyebrows in a teasing manner. " _ Love _ ? Marriage isn't about love, silly. Marriage is about duty- duty to your house and duty to tradition. We need to keep our bloodlines pure, no muggle blood within the family."

"Why do the bloodlines need to be pure?" Rosamaria parrots, still utterly confused. 

Rosamaria is no stranger to the concept of marrying for duty, she was a noblewoman after all. She understands that sometimes there are certain things that need to be done for the good of the family, and the good of the people that depend on you. However, marrying to keep bloodlines pure is a concept she is entirely unfamiliar with seeing as her father was a muggle.

Madelina doesn't seem to understand her confusion and shrugs. "Well, our magic is stronger that way."

She's so dismissive with that little shrug she does as if she's telling a child to not question it, so Rosamaria doesn't, even if every fiber of her being is willing her to lash out, to question, to berate Madelina for such an ignorant comment. However, she was raised to not press negative issues unless the situation deems it necessary. 

"Wow, it looks as if a lot of weddings are coming soon," she says, slipping back perfectly into her poised persona. "It should be exciting."

"Mine is scheduled for next summer!" Madelina cries with utter excitement. "I'm marrying Cornelius Chapman, can you believe it? He graduated last year so we're waiting until I do. I was so happy when Mother told me!"

Rosamaria can't help it anymore. Her curiosity overshadows her noble etiquette. "Your parents chose who you are going to marry, despite you not having a say in it, just so your blood is pure. Does this not bother you?"

"No! I'm actually very fond of Cornelius! He's so handsome and so intelligent. We have spent so much time together that he's practically my best friend. But I can see what you're saying, I'm the lucky one." She looks like a giddy school girl basically bouncing on her feet with a look of utterly blind euphoria in her eyes. "His family is amongst the noblest of the Sacred Twenty-Nine. We are going to make such perfect pureblooded babies!"

Rosamaria stops, making them lag behind the group, but she can't help it. She has to know. "Is it really so bad that a family might have a little muggle blood?"

"Yes." Madelina doesn't skip a beat with her answer and her smile is still plastered on her face. "They're beneath us, Rosamaria. Not just them, but half bloods and mudbloods too. Since they have dirtied their blood, they have less magic. They're not as powerful as us purebloods."

She grits her teeth. She can't help it. She has to. Her pride is demanding it and her conscience is fighting for it. "Madelina. I am a half blood."

Madelina does something akin to a little gasp and she takes a noticeable step back. "I-I didn't realize. Well, you don't seem like one. You're so elegant and proud-"

"Do you think you are superior to me then?"

Rosamaria knows that this is a tricky question to pose to someone she considers a friend. It doesn't take a Ravenclaw to know that Madelina is so rigid in her beliefs, no doubt being force-fed them her entire life. So, Madelina is going to choose between lying to placate her, or speaking the truth and risk losing a friendship over it. 

It also doesn't take a Seer to know which option Madelina is going to choose. 

"It doesn't mean you're not my friend..."

The truth, it is simultaneously the easiest and most difficult choice to make. But Madelina, very much like herself, is bred to not stand down from her beliefs. 

Rosamaria can see the conflicted look in her friend's gorgeously blue eyes. She understands that she has put them both in a difficult situation, but Rosamaria will not back down. 

Yes, Rosamaria is exceedingly kind- it's something she admires about herself- but she's also proud. She's sweet like honey but she knows exactly when to be a sour grape. So, Rosamaria chooses not to speak. She chooses to let her friend think about what her words truly mean, a silent form of punishment she's learned from her father. 

Before Madelina can say something to either salvage or destroy the friendship, a chill runs down Rosamaria's spine when a hand lands not-so-gently on her shoulder.  Madelina's eyes widen at the new addition and Rosamaria knows who it is just by the look on her face. 

"Tom," Rosamaria says, turning to him to see that he's sporting that sly smirk he loves so much. "What a pleasure."

Tom's lips quirk up even more, probably at the knowledge that it really  _ isn't _ her pleasure. She hates to admit that the hand resting on her silk-covered shoulder is anything but horrid, the steady pressure of his thumb pressing down on her collarbone is rather...comfortable. 

"Do you think I can steal her away for a minute?" Tom asks, looking over at Madelina who hasn't moved an inch. "If that's alright with you. I can tell that you were having a very lovely conversation."

Rosamaria lifts her eyebrows skeptically. Perhaps Madelina's rumor of Tom being a Legilimens is true because the wicked little glint in his eyes lets  _ her _ know that  _ he _ knows it was anything but lovely. Madelina shakes her head quickly, disappearing without so much as a goodbye. 

"Looks like I have you all to myself now," Tom whispers in her ear, his hand resting gently on her lower back, guiding her away from the path. "My lucky day."

"Lucky," Rosamaria whispers to herself with a bit too much sarcasm. She takes in a deep breath, reigns in her noble composure, and smiles up at him. "Lead the way."

  
  


━━━━━━━━━━━ 

  
  


Tom leads them away from the others, from the prying eyes of his subordinates who are all too interested in his encounter with Rosamaria. Although it's annoying, he can't blame them since he  _ did _ tell them to keep an eye on her, and he has been rather cryptic about why.  Unfortunately, his Knights have not produced any worthwhile information. Rosamaria, on all accounts, has been leading a very boring life; sometimes she has lunch with her Ravenclaw friends, sometimes with the Slytherins. Apparently, she's like a little muggle princess that likes to sing to woodland animals and give candy to crying children. 

_ Disgusting _ . 

However, whenever he's around her, he feels like he sees a different side to her. Sometimes, he watches her in the Great Hall, and for a few fleeting seconds, he can see the look of sheer boredom on her face. When someone says something offensive or degrading, her eyebrow arches in a tight beautiful angry line before it schools itself. 

When he stumbled upon her in the bath, he saw the look of sheer panic on her face, the defiance in her eyes, and the undeniable thrill of having his hands all over her. But, no, he has to be the  _ respectable _ Tom Riddle now. But when he looks down at her, he wants to be everything but that. 

_ What a monster you're making me, my Spanish little witch _ , he thinks. 

He wants to push that monster aside and take her on a pleasant walk around Hogsmeade. He wants to talk about literature, music, and art until she relaxes in his presence. He wants to learn how to make her comfortable, secure,  _ unguarded _ . But he can't do that. 

She's walking alongside him with her shoulders back and her chin held high. She allows him to lead her along the beaten path, but even with his hand on her back, she keeps her distance. Her hair is perfectly groomed, reaching just above her waist, and he wants to grab a handful and pull until she cries. Her lips are set in a polite smile, and he wants to bite them until he spills blood. Her lavender flowy dress is teasing him in all the wrong ways, and he wants to see it ripped to shreds. She looks like olive marble- unbreakable and unspoiled- and he wants to see how far he has to go to make her crack. 

In an instant, before he can control himself, and before he can talk himself out of it, Tom has her pressed against the bark of a nearby tree. The sudden movement makes her dark eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and there's a look of bewilderment there until her back comes in contact with the rough bark and a spark of rage takes its place. 

_ There it is _ , he sneers to himself.  _ A crack _ . 

"What are you doing?" she hisses, trying to push him away to no avail. She might be tall, and she might look daunting, but she is no match for him. 

"Let's just cut to the chaste, shall we," he whispers, bracing one hand above her while his other wraps around her throat. He can't resist the evil chuckle that escapes him when he sees a flash of fearfulness mix in with that fiery resilience. "All I want is to ask you one simple question."

"Then why do you have me pinned against a tree?" she argues, thrashing against his hold, her beautiful accent coming out stronger with her panic. "I am capable of having a polite conversation."

Tom  _ tsks _ at her, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he presses her further against the tree. "Now, see, this is where you and I disagree my charming Spanish witch. I recall that the last time I asked you this very same question, you ran as soon as you could."

"I do not know what you are talking about," she says but her trembling voice betrays that dignified stare. 

_ No, no, no _ , he thinks.  _ We can't have her molding those cracks. _

"You don't? If I may say, I find myself rather upset actually," he mocks, his eyes willing themselves to run down her helpless figure. "Let me remind you, shall I?"

He leans into her and his nose starts a trail up her shoulder, past her ear, and across the soft angle of her jaw. He has to restrain himself from sinking his teeth into those beautiful lips when she lets out something akin to a moan, although truthfully, he can't tell. He's too busy removing his hand from her throat, allowing her a quick breath of relief before that very same hand wanders down the front of her dress and plays with the fabric just below her breast. 

"I know you're a Seer," he says, allowing his hand to travel further down to grasp her waist, licking his bottom lip when he feels the trembling of her breath. 

She grits her teeth together but doesn't make any attempt to pull herself away. She seems almost as mesmerized when he rubs harsh circles on her hips. Finally, he hears her let out a shuddering breath. "Do you have any proof?"

His eyes snap up in amusement at her blatant rebellion. "I am a very smart man, Rosamaria."

"That does not sound like proof to me-" but her sentence is cut off when Tom snakes his other hand down to her hip and pulls her flush against his frame, aligning their pelvises perfectly as he drops his forehead to hers. 

"I want to know what you Saw, and if it pleases me, you and I have a wonderful journey ahead of us, my little witch."

The silence between them seems to span hours but Tom can't find it in himself to care. He had noticed the way her body reacted at his touch during their little encounter in the bath, and his clever mind had told him that physical manipulation would be the key to unlock his answer, even if he had resigned himself to act like the perfect gentleman. He, however, didn't account for the fact that he would enjoy it  _ this _ much. 

With her body pressed against his, she must feel the growing bulge in his trousers. She must notice the way he's too intoxicated with her touches, but perhaps she doesn't because she's too preoccupied enjoying them herself.  He thinks back to when he touched himself to her- when he stroked himself to completion- thinking about the way he would feel buried balls deep inside her. In that fantasy, he hadn't considered whether or not she'd be a willing participant- something that didn't seem important enough to cross his mind- but seeing her just so... _ breathless _ at his touch makes him realize that it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. 

And, Salazar, does she look lovely. 

Her eyes are hooded with lust, something he is sure she's severely fighting, and her cheeks are a beautiful pink. Her lips are slightly parted and he presses his nose against hers so he can figure out if she really does taste like honey. She hasn't given him his answer, but he doesn't quite want those lips to formulate a reply, not when they would be suited to a much better task. 

Just as he's closing the distance, her breath fanning his lips and his tongue darting out to see if he can get a quick taste, she freezes. 

She freezes and her eyes glaze over and it's a look he's seen twice now. His shock at what's happening before him disarms him and allows her the time to push him away. However, what he sees isn't horror or terror, nothing like when they first touched, but pure  _ shock _ . 

It is disbelief that's swimming in her chocolate eyes, pure bewilderment at what she's Seen, but before he can question her about it, she's runoff. 

Tom runs his hand across his mouth, shaking his head with an incredulous laugh as he watches her retreating figure. 

_ Oh, my sweet witch _ , he thinks.  _ Bad move. Don't you know how much predators love the chase? _


	8. Chapter 8

_SHE'S RUNNING AS FAST AS HER FEET CAN CARRY HER_ but it still doesn't feel fast enough. 

She can briefly hear Nott calling out for her as she passes by him on his way out from Honey Dukes, but she ignores him. She doesn't know exactly where she's running to but no place on this godforsaken Earth would be far enough. 

She stops, the bottom of her dress is ripped and muddied, her hair has come out of the intricate clasps she's put it in, but she doesn't care about her appearance as she enters the Hog's Head Inn. The place is nearly empty, but she didn't enter the establishment because she's looking for company. When she spots the bar, she practically marches right up to it. 

"Firewhiskey, please."

The barkeep looks at her with wide eyes and raises his bushy eyebrow. "You old enough, love?"

She simply stares at him. There must be something about her disheveled appearance, or maybe it's the urgency in her eyes, but he relents with a shrug and pours her a drink. She downs it in one swig, ignoring the terrible burning in her throat. She knows what her father would say. He would completely tear into her about using alcohol as an excuse to drown away her worries, and he would speak from experience. 

But she needs _something_ to take away the memory of what she Saw. 

With Tom's lips so close to hers, her back pressed against that tree, his fingers working devilish patterns on her body, she didn't see the man that would eventually lead her to her death. She didn't see violence, death, war-

No, all she Saw was Tom. 

It was Tom, working his fingers through her hair, growling against her mouth. It was Tom, hitching her leg around his waist and digging his erection into her thigh. It was Tom, biting into the flesh of her shoulder with a grunt. 

And the worst part-

She was loving absolutely every minute of it. 

It was them, pressed against an unknown wall, their heartbeats in synch as the sun shone down on them, illuminating the glorious picture of them simply devouring each other. 

The sheer thought disgusts her. That man is everything she needs to avoid. She needs to stay away from him, needs to stay away from the future he would bring her, but she just can't. 

She can't deny the way it felt to have his hands on her. The electricity that shot through her body when he wrapped his hand around her throat should make her feel ashamed, but it doesn't. 

She is terrified of what he is, not only because he wants to know her secret, but also because just a few more touches would have been able to coax it out of her. 

She was not raised to act like this- like a trollop at the mercy of a handsome gentleman- but that's what he did to her. All her noble composure had almost slipped away from her the moment his tongue darted out of his mouth, eager to seek her own lips. 

_Dios, sálvame_ , she thinks to herself, waving her fingers for another shot. 

She downs her drink once more, then orders another, and another, and another. She's thoroughly wankered at this point, and she had hoped that it would alleviate the tension, but it hasn't quite all faded away. 

She keeps trying to convince herself that it's not inevitable, that visions change all the time. She absolutely hates herself at this moment for not once asking her mother for more information on the Sight. Her mother hadn't had the gift- or a curse as Rosamaria is now coming to think of it- but her great-great-grandmother had it. 

What does it all mean? What is the point of being able to see the future? Is she supposed to _do_ something about it? How can she even know when certain things will unravel and others don't? Why does this power even exist? Is it meant to be a blessing to save the world or a curse cast on wayward witches that don't deserve an easy life? 

_Coño de madre, maldito, hijo de puta Sight._

  
  


━━━━━━━━━━━

  
  


Rosamaria is walking- more like lightly stumbling- to Ravenclaw tower. Although the sun is still out, and although there should be people roaming the halls, she's grateful that it's deserted for the time of day. She has managed to almost make it to her common room when a sudden grip on her arm stops her. She doesn't know where he came from, but she should know by now that Tom Riddle has the worst _fucking_ timing imaginable. 

He slams her into the wall and it is neither gentle nor playful, it's filled with brutality and impatience, just like him at the moment. 

But Rosamaria does not falter. Although she is more than slightly drunk, she was bred by Spanish nobility, and she knows better than to let a predator see their prey squirm, especially when the predator is Tom Riddle and she knows how much he likes to play with his food. 

He's looking down at her with furious eyes- like a snake that's thirsty for blood- but she refuses to crack. She had forgotten herself earlier in the day, she had forgotten who she is and what she is capable of. 

Not just magic, although she is a gifted witch, but her _pride_. The alcohol has given her the courage to not cave into his touch. 

"Why do you _insist_ on defying me?" he hisses, wrapping one hand around her throat while the other cages her to the wall. "I asked you a simple question. I've asked this question several times and I've been polite every single time. However, my patience is waning and I'm no longer going to be polite. Now, _tell me_."

He presses harder, and Rosamaria knows that there are going to be bruises there that she will have to magically heal. It isn't like earlier today when he was teasing at the power he wanted over her. The way he holds her throat now is a clear threat that she would be stupid to miss. She takes deep, even breaths and holds her chin up high. Their brown eyes lock- rich chocolate and sinful chestnut- but she still refuses to give in. 

Tom Riddle scares her, she'd be a fool to deny it, but her pride won't allow her to show him this and her intellect tells her it's not a wise decision. 

Instead, with the utmost authority and infinite peace, she poses a question that's been running through her mind since the start of the day. "Why have you not done it yet?"

"Done _what_?" he whispers, asserting his power once more by tightening his grip on her throat and pushing her harder against the wall, pressing his body to hers in the process. 

"Looked for yourself," she says, tilting her head at him. Her lips are slightly parted as if feigning shock and she nibbles on the bottom one pensively. "You can do it, can you not? Unless everyone's talk of you being better than all of us is just that- talk."

Rosamaria is a Ravenclaw and despite only attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for a few weeks, she knows what this means. She's always been intelligent- keen on insignificant details- and wise beyond her years. Her intellect and her drunken bravery are telling her to be calculating with her choice of words. She's fighting against him, fighting against him in a way he hadn't expected. She isn't fleeing, she isn't making excuses, she's calling him his bluff. 

Because, despite his skill, he claims he doesn't know the answer to his question. He acts as if he hasn't _looked_. She knows he has, he has to have. 

He takes a deep breath- too deep and too heavy- and his hand loosens only slightly. She can see that his eyes are glossy, hazy, almost as if he's trying to do the very thing she's accusing him of. But his brows pinch in frustration, his upper lip tightens, and he looks so insecure. It's like he's watching a myriad of things he doesn't want to see. She wants to properly hex herself because her stupidly kind nature feels bad for him, feels bad for the anxiety and worry that she hasn't seen before. She's sure that Tom Riddle hasn't felt completely useless before. 

She's cautious and timid when she reaches her hand up, going against her wise nature because she knows Tom is like a wild animal, any wrong move and he'll bite. But she's so curious about him and his neatly pressed robes and the shiny Prefect badge adorned on them that her drunken bravery urges her on. She licks her lips as she stares at his badge, not minding the increasing pressure on her throat or the way his eyes are narrowed down at her. It seems that she was wrong. The alcohol hasn't given her the courage to spite him, not when she sees the flash of vulnerability in his eyes at her simple touch. 

Her mind is hazy, and she can't believe she's saying this, but she does. "You know, I Saw this."

"Did you really?" he whispers, shivering when her fingers linger too long on his exposed collarbone. "What is going to happen?"

His hand releases her throat but lingers so that he can stroke her jaw, his touch is soft and no longer feels dangerous. But he's still dangerous- he's like playing with _Fiendenfyre_ \- but she, unfortunately, finds it thrilling how much her body enjoys feeling his thumb brush against her pulse point. 

She finally looks up and is surprised to see that he's looking at her with hooded eyes that are zeroed down directly at her lips. She sucks in a deep breath as he leans in closer, his nose brushing up against her cheek, and she poses her own question. It's the question that never ceases to cloud her mind. "If you could See what was going to happen, would you try and change it?"

His answer comes in a form that she entirely expected as he quickly moves his head and crashes his lips down on hers. It's nothing like what she Saw but at the same time, it's everything she Saw. 

His lips are smooth like velvet against hers and he's greedy as he tries to suckle every last bit of breath from her. The hand that's holding her cheek shifts so that he can press his thumb up against her chin to give him a better angle, to mold their mouths deeper, and to lap at her lips with his tongue. 

She's not protesting, if anything she's welcoming the sensations of him grinding his hardened member against her. She's enjoying the way his other hand squeezes her hip and forces her to mimic his actions. She savoring the taste of his tongue against hers and the little grunts he lets out of his mouth and into hers. 

So, she allows him to hike her leg around his waist and run a hand under her skirt to touch the soft skin of her thigh. She wraps her arms around his neck as his other hand runs up her shirt, fondling her breast just above her lace brassiere. The air is hot, heavy, and sticky with their passion. 

Rosamaria is pristine, educated, regal, and nothing like this lust-filled beast that Tom Riddle is making her. 

They both pull back when they've run out of oxygen. Their erratic chests brush as they try to even their breaths. Their eyes are delving into each other's, trying to comprehend the sequence of events that led them to this moment. She takes another chance and traces her forefinger against his swollen and bruised bottom lip. It's laughable really. The sequence of events leading to this very moment had been mapped out perfectly for her and, in her haste to alter with her visions, she fell right into its trap. 

His breath quivers at her touch, and he moves her hair to expose her neck. He drops his head and takes a deep whiff of her scent, gently biting down where her neck meets her shoulder and she can feel him harden further as she lets out a little whimper of pain mixed with pleasure. 

With his mouth licking the fresh bite on her neck, his arms still under her clothes, and touching her bare skin, she confirms what she's always known. 

She is absolutely terrified of Tom Riddle. 

━━━━━━━━━━━

When Tom had seen her, stumbling pathetically down the corridor, he had wanted to snap her pretty little neck. She had left him- yet again- desperate for her touch and imagining what her lips taste like. He had accosted her, giving in to his more violent tendencies, and had done what he does best- intimidate. However, his plan had backfired spectacularly. 

He hadn't counted on practically fucking _swooning_ at the sound of her accented voice. He's never been one to be too fond of Spaniards, but Rosamaria's voice causes his previous notions to falter slightly. There's a venom in it he hasn't heard before, and she finds yet another way to make him forget his resolve. He takes a deep breath, looking down to where his hand has trapped her slender neck. A jolt of superiority starts at his lips and rushes all the way down to his cock that twitches at the sight of her caged and helpless against him. 

Rosamaria is a beautiful young witch, something that hasn't gone over his head. For Salazar's sake, he's wanked himself off at just the thought of her. However, he is starting to realize that it's more than just her looks that make her the sole object of admiration. She is unique- like he is unique in himself- and looks nothing like the other British witches that roam the school halls. 

His pale hand that's wrapped around her olive-toned neck looks infinitely ghostly against her skin. Her dark features highlight how slender her face is, how dainty and artfully crafter her features are. Her eyebrows are dark, thick, and her lips full and plump. Her foreign nature, her distinctive face, body, and demeanor make her a rare artifact- a prize to be captured. 

She asks him why he hasn't taken a look into her mind, proving to him that Madelina Chapman can't keep her fucking mouth shut. He can't answer Rosamaria's question because that would mean admitting to her just how fascinating he finds her and her mind. Every time he tries to take a dip, press just a little bit, he finds himself lost. 

Lost in the memories of her and her mother watching ships sail in the Alboran Sea. 

Lost in the way she slowly and meticulously brushes her hair every morning. 

Lost in the way people admire the radiance she exudes and the kindness she bestows. 

He can't admit that he gets so lost in her mind that he can never find what he's truly looking for. 

She's looking up at him with hazy eyes, there's something at the tip of her tongue that she seems to be battling. He can see that she doesn't want to say it, but she does anyway. "You know, I Saw this."

"Did you really?" he whispers, cursing the fact that her warm fingers give him goosebumps when they graze his collarbone. "What is going to happen?"

She takes a deep breath and he's mesmerized by the way her pretty lips tremble at the action. He's anticipating her answer, hoping that she'll finally give him what he's been yearning to hear. Except, like the fucking surprise she is, she poses a question instead. "If you could See what was going to happen, would you try and change it?"

_What the fuck is that supposed to mean?_

It must be a trick, right? Had she Seen something she wanted to change? Something she needed to prevent? Or, more terrifyingly enough, was there something she was _willing_ into existence. In this own questioning state, he doesn't realize that he's stroking her cheek, treating her like some precious pet as her beautiful eyes try and penetrate his mind. 

He can't help it anymore. He's been imagining what she would taste like, feel like, and the lust in her eyes is giving him full permission to indulge his curiosity. 

So he crashes his lips against hers before he can give it a second god. 

And thank fucking Salazar he did. 

Her lips are sweet and taste just like she smells. He runs his tongue gently along her bottom lip and it tastes like honey and caramel, spring. This kiss is frenzied and making him slightly light-headed. He's not letting their lips part, not allowing any of them to get the chance to breathe. If she's spring, he must be winter because the feel of her tongue gently brushing against his makes him feel like he's melting, letting his guard down. He presses his thumb against her chin, unwilling to not discover every crevice of her mouth. He's hard as a fucking rock as he grinds against her like some horny schoolboy, but he doesn't care. _Fuck that thought_ , he thinks as he digs his fingers into her hip so he can rub her against him. After a minute, he releases his grip and is positively delighted to see that she's taken it all on herself to continue the movements he started. 

She's fucking enjoying this. She must be. He's swallowing up all her little whimpers that feed the fire within him. He reaches down so he can hike her leg around his waist. Her dress falls back and exposes her silky skin, the skin that he has only had a glance of in the Prefect's bathroom. Her thigh is soft, sweet, untainted, and unblemished and he's enjoying sullying it with his hands. He takes a chance because he hasn't gotten enough- it isn't enough- and he shoves his hand gracelessly up her shirt. He groans when his fingers meet a lacy material and he can feel her pert nipples straying against the fabric. 

He pulls back, taking a moment to enjoy the perfect sight before him. Her eyes are still closed and her lips are still parted. He smiles because she no longer looks like royalty, but like nothing more than a cock hungry slut. He sees her beautiful slender neck hiding behind her hair, and he finally gives in to the temptation to mark her as he plunges his teeth into her neck. He has to restrain himself from coming right there and then when she gasps and pulls him closer, buries his head deeper in her neck. 

Tom Riddle is collected, astute, and poised, and everything like the monster he's unleashing upon the young woman underneath him. 

With her hands laced around his neck, her fingers playing with his brown curls, and her breath fanning his ear, he confirms what he's already decided. 

Rosamaria Adeladia Marquez is a prize. 

A prize that he will possess no matter what the cost.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooooo. Yaaaaaas. 
> 
> I hope y'all enjoyed reading the two different POVs of their first kiss. I really wanted to highlight the difference between how Rosamaria responded to it, and how Tom did. Obviously, they don't seem to be on the same page just yet. 
> 
> Come on Tom, women aren't objects but I'm assuming that comment is falling on closed ears. 
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all! Got another chapter for you! I hope you're enjoying it, and I have a few questions if anyone's willing to answer.
> 
> What is a beta? I've been seeing it all the time on this site and I still have no idea what it is. Is it like someone that edits your work? A real person? A robot? I'm a little confused about that. 
> 
> Also, if y'all like story playlists like me (and I do because I love seeing the collection of music writers have fathered for their stories) here is the link to the playlist for this story!
> 
> Thanks for reading this y'all! 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3odvmvJ1mm5gPpdYs9HUnZ?si=kwM_ZK3lQEK_4RR9RoogAw

_TOM STALKS ANGRILY THROUGH THE HALLS_ , keen on trying to regain some of his control and trying to calm his senses because all he can think of is Rosamaria Adeladia Marquez. 

It's been almost a full week since he kissed her, and in those few days, he has been plagued with memories of how sweet she tastes and how delicate her body is. That day, that fateful fucking day, he had acted upon his baser instincts. His body had been urging him to touch her, taste her, experience every ounce of pleasure she could give him. His mind, however, is still reeling from the interaction. Tom doesn't want to feel this way about her. He doesn't want his mind to be filled with nothing but her and her lips and her sweet sighs. 

The worst part is, that after that startling second when he and Rosamaria parted, _he_ had been the one to flee. He is furious, furious because he hadn't expected that reaction out of her. He had thought she would have been timid, fearful, just like she had been pressed against that tree, but she wasn't. Rosamaria is full of surprises, and he was thoroughly surprised when she decided to fire back at him with the same physical manipulation. She had fought him- rebelled- and it troubled him how exhilarating that had felt. She also surprised him by revealing that she was, in fact, a Seer. He had known it already, but he is still questioning why she had done it. 

A sinister thought works its way into his mind, that perhaps, she had been just as caught up in their passionate moment as he had. 

He heads to the Room of Requirement- his little hideout that he had discovered years ago- to regain some of this control and to find solace in the quiet. 

He stands in front of the doors, closes his eyes, and pictures the only place he wants to be, the place he _needs_ to be. When the doors open wide for him, he is expecting to find himself on the grassy lawn of Hogwarts, except secluded and only reserved for him, with the sun shining down on his pale cheeks. 

However, what he finds is the exact opposite. 

He walks into an elaborate grand hall, a place out of a muggle book where kings greet their subjects. There are long pillars lining the room and a large throne just at the end of it. When he turns to the side, he sees that the other end of the room is completely different. It's dark and resembles an audaciously large closet with multiple racks holding various dresses. There is an oak vanity that has several pieces of jewelry and an assortment of makeup. 

He is even more stunned to see Rosamaria standing in front of a floor-length mirror, her hands fingering the straps of her dress with a morose frown. So, Tom says the only thing he can think of. 

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Rosamaria, to her credit, looks startled but only for a brief moment. She doesn't seem to be upset, or terrified, but merely a bit confused. Her nose wrinkles in an adorable little fashion as she furrows her curious eyebrows. He wonders if this is the expression of her gears turning and if the way she rolls her plump bottom lip in her mouth is what she does when she finds a problem she can't solve. She sighs after and moment and looks almost resigned as she turns back to the mirror. "I suppose for the same reason you are here."

Tom shakes his head. The bloody room is supposed to transform into what you need, it's supposed to dig into your deepest desires and produce them for you. And his deepest desire is _not_ Rosamaria Adeladia _fucking_ Marquez. 

She smiles coyly as she looks over her shoulder at him. "Should I be flattered that the thing you wanted most to see is me?"

His lips curl into disgust. How dare that bitch insinuate that _she_ has any bearing in his life, no matter how regretfully true that is. He tries to school his features into something less animalistic, not wanting to allow her the satisfaction of seeing how her comment affected him. "Let me rephrase," he says in an unwaveringly cool voice. "How did you find this place?"

She shrugs dismissively. "During my first week here, I was wandering the halls and I assume that I must have been thinking about the life I led. I was rather sad the first few days here. I kept feeling this strong sense of _añoranza_. I was lost for a few minutes, seeing as I trapped myself in my thoughts. When I stopped, there was a door in front of me, something I had not noticed before, and when I opened it I found this. I assume this room is meant to be what you want it to be."

Tom doesn't think of correcting her and telling her that the Room of Requirement is much more practical than that. This room doesn't reflect silly wishes or craving, it's meant to satisfy your soul in a way nothing else can. He grits his teeth. To his knowledge, no one else knows about this room. He thought- that just like the Chamber of Secrets- it was his secret. He had thought that perhaps he was the only one _worthy_ of having his wonderful wishes granted. 

He looks at the dresses behind her and sneers, no longer entertaining any pleasantries. "So, what you want most in the world is a room full of pretty dresses? I didn't picture you being so self-absorbed."

Rosamaria laughs, and it's genuine, and it's music to his ears. She doesn't seem to be at all upset that he mocked her so blatantly. "That does make me seem extremely shallow, yes? But they are more than just some pretty dresses."

Tom thinks about that statement, but that's all he sees, pretty dresses meant for pretty and shallow girls. He had assumed that Rosamaria had some more depth than this. 

He watches as she sits down at her vanity, gnawing at her bottom lip as she begins to brush her hair. "I can see you are filled with questions, and I am finding myself extremely generous."

He tries to not bark at her for thinking that her words are a great gift being bestowed upon him.

"I am going to tell you about my past now. I see no use in hiding it since you have found yourself here, and I do not particularly want to discover what lengths you will go to in order to get any more answers."

"Wise," Tom smiles, relishing in the fleeting sweet victory and walking over to sit behind her on a comfy armchair that had just appeared. "That's very Ravenclaw of you."

She looks up at him through the reflection of the mirror. "You have hinted that you know some things about me, but now I am going to tell you a story and you are going to sit and listen. Hopefully, this will appease that insatiable curiosity of yours."

Tom digs his nails into the chair at her tone, at her _command_ for him to do as she says, but he keeps his mouth shut and nods. He reasons to himself that he can humor her for just a minute before fucking her into complacency, although that last thought jumps into his mind at the very last minute like some deadly poison and catches him off guard. 

"As you know, I was raised by Spanish nobility. My father was a muggle and a Duke, and my mother was a witch." He sees a beautiful stray tear fall down her cheek, a little crack that makes her seem all too human. "I had a governess who graduated from Hogwarts, and she was my best friend. I had such a wonderful life- my own perfect pretty picture- and I loved it. I learned, not only how to use my magic, but also how to rule. But then, that life shattered when I Saw something-"

"So you are a Seer?"

"Did I not ask you to listen?" she snaps, cocking her head to the side. "I recall doing it very politely."

Tom seethes in the chair and bites the inside of his cheek until he can taste blood. 

This _fucking_ witch. 

She smiles at his silence before continuing. "One day, I Saw that my village was going to have some sort of disaster. I Saw a fire, smoke, shouts, and it was all rather hazy. So naturally as any leader should, I warned them, but they did not listen. They thought I was crazy."

She laughs, but it's humorless and cold and Tom doesn't like the way it sounds coming out of her pretty pink lips. 

"They all thought I was crazy, and crazy is okay. But one of the villagers did not see it that way. They took my vision seriously, and instead of doing something about it, they saw it as a slight to God- devil's work I think is what they call it in English." 

She runs her thumb against her bottom lip and closes her eyes for a moment and it is obvious that the memory is far too much to bear, but he's enjoying seeing her like this- a twisted part of him loves it. She's so vulnerable, so open, and her pain makes her radiant. 

"They tried to burn us at the stake like some silly fairytale. I will spare you the details because I would rather not relive it. My mother, father, and governess died," she whispers, standing up to walk over to a rack of dresses. "These...pretty dresses are all handmade. My mother taught me how to sew when I was little. When I would see her in them, I marveled at the metalwork, the embroidery, the texture. She always said that the clothes you wear _matter_. She said that they let someone know exactly who you are before you even open your mouth. So, when I put on my pretty little dresses and sit in front of the mirror and brush my hair, I see my mother and I miss her just a little bit less."

Watching her finger her dresses, look down at them with so much admiration, makes him take back his previous notion. _No_ , he thinks, _this isn't shallow at all. No,_ he states, _perhaps pain is a drab look on her?_ He can see the anguish in her eyes, but at the same time, they shine with resilience. Tom had found his connection with his past through his deceased mother, where he learned that- through Merope Gaunt- he is a descendant of Salazar Slytherin. The ring he wears, one of his Horcruxes, is a reminder of his greatness and superiority. He can see now that Rosamaria has the same connection to these dresses, something so petty and trivial, but they're not to her. 

Tom, in a moment of complete horror, sits back in his chair. "Put on your favorite."

"Excuse me?" Rosamaria says, turning around rapidly to stare at him with wide eyes. "¿Qué _dijisteis_? _"_

"You heard me," he says with a shrug as if it's the most natural thing for him to do. "Pick your favorite and put it on. And, do avoid the Spanish from now one. I hate to admit I'm not entirely familiar with it."

It only takes her a moment before she fumbles through the dresses quickly, biting her lip with excitement at sharing her memories, and when she's found the right one, she runs behind a partition to change, throwing one last glance at him over her shoulder. 

For some reason, he feels a jolt of pride at seeing how quickly her expression changes. She's giddy now, almost like some insipid school girl, and her smile is the most genuine he's seen. He hasn't seen that smile, and at this moment, it's solely reserved for _him_. He did that. He made her feel that way. He turned that beautiful face into a work of art with just his words. He feels an uncomfortable twinge and his hand comes up to clutch at his chest. Is his heart...is his heart fucking _fluttering_? 

When she comes back out, he's surprised to find that the dress is hanging sloppily on her as if it's not the right size. It's not until she turns around that he realizes why and he has to gulp audibly to stop his salivating. 

"My governess always helped me get into this one," she explains, looking at him over her shoulder as she motions for him to stand. "Would you?"

Tom doesn't hesitate to stand up and to close the distance between them. His stare is directed to her naked back that's littered with dark freckles. He knows he can just magically tighten the dress and work the laces through their holes, but he doesn't. He assumes that she must know that too, but he doesn't care. All he wants is to feel his fingers against her again, trailing down her back as he works up the dress. 

He struggles for a moment and the complexity of the dress shocks him. He never gives much thought to how women get in their clothes- in truth he had never given their wardrobes much thought either- but there are metal pieces he needs to secure, laces that he has to fasten, and clips that he has to sort through. 

When he's done, he's rewarded with the sight of her in her most prized possession. She looks more than happy as she stares down at her dress, and he feels his lips twitching a smile as she looks up at him with those same eyes. She walks away from him to face the mirror again and he follows her, coming to stand behind her as they both stare at their reflections. 

"How does it make you feel?" he asks with genuine curiosity, trying to coax out of her certain things that he normally would be able to access with his Legilimency. For some reason, he wants to know more about her, more than just her incredible power. He wants to know what goes on in that fascinating mind, where her thoughts wander when she alone, how she sees herself-

How she sees him. 

"Happy," she whispers, surprising him yet again as she leans back against his chest. "Content."

He nods his head pensively, but the answer doesn't satisfy him. He sees that there's something buried in her eyes, and if he's not mistaken, it almost looks malicious. With one hand flat on her stomach, he pulls her to his chest as his other snakes up to its preferred spot. 

"I know there's more," he says, wrapping his hand delicately around her throat, his finger softly brushing her chin. "What else? Don't hold back on me now."

Despite the fact that he once again has her in a position of submission, she smiles. Her dainty hand comes up to rest on the one gripping her throat. "Powerful. I feel like every bit the ruler I was meant to be. I feel strong."

"Strong?" he chuckles, tightening his hand around her neck just a bit. "Even like this?"

She nods her head as she tilts her neck to a more comfortable position and closes her eyes, ignoring the fact that the hand on her stomach has wandered down to bunch up her dress at her hip. "For some reason, yes."

"And why is that?"

She bites her bottom lip in a playful manner before angling her neck so she can look directly at him. "Because of that thing in between your legs that is pressing against my back."

And this is when all hell breaks loose.

  
  


━━━━━━━━━━━ 

  
  


Rosamaria feels her back collide with the mirror behind her, and she can swear she hears it crack. Tom's hands are no longer playful or gentle, they're digging into her neck and into her waist painfully, almost as if he's trying to draw blood. What she said had tipped him over the edge. 

_Perfect_ , she sings to herself. _That's exactly what I wanted_. 

She had seen some sort of...vulnerability in his eyes, but it was questionable. She saw it when she told him about her past. She saw it when he asked her to dress up for him. She saw it as he asked her loaded questions in front of the mirror. But she wanted to see just how genuine it was. She wanted to see how much it would take for _him_ to crack, just the way he is trying to crack her. 

He must think she's stupid, that she has no idea of the games he's trying to play with her. How could he have possibly thought that she would lay down so easily? Was he not at all puzzled by her nonchalance toward him? After basically ravaging her against the walls of Hogwarts, did he really think that she would have nothing to say? But like a game of wizarding chess, she has him right where she wants him. 

"You think this makes you strong?" he hisses, lifting her up and forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist, digging his erection into her hips. "Do you still feel powerful now?"

She nods her head, not losing her conviction even when he pulls her back just to slam her against the mirror again. Her mind is in a haze for just a moment before she answers. " _Yes_."

"I could kill you right now if I wanted to. Do you know how it feels to kill someone? _That's_ power." 

And then, she forgets herself. The memories she's tried to forget come crashing back down around her, and all she can see is a flash of green, the cry of a muggle, and then nothing. She wants to cry, ugly and honest because she's lost the game she started. 

He seems to sense this unusually drastic change within her, and he narrows his eyes. He's studying her and at this moment she's an open book. 

"You do..." he trails off, no longer looking angry but as if he has just come to some euphoric epiphany. "You've done it before, haven't you?"

It's futile. Every time she thinks she's got just a little advantage over him, it comes crashing down. For the last few weeks, in their fleeting encounters, they've been stuck in this impossible loop of power exchange. One minute she's on top, and then in an instant, he is. If she's being honest, it's been tiring. She was raised to understand her opponent, to think logistically when it comes to strategy, but she's so _exhausted_ . War games are just that- _games_ \- and she's tired of playing. She's so tired of worrying about her future, about the burden she carries, and even about the past. She needs to let it out, she needs for someone to know her darkest, filthiest secret. For some reason, she knows that Tom Riddle is more than suited for the job. She looks down at his chest and allows herself a slip of vulnerability. 

"It was horrible," she says, leaning forward so that she can rest her head on his shoulder and she notices the way his hand hesitates to cup the back of her head. "I did not mean to."

"But you did," he says against the crown of her head with a little laugh. "You have to mean it to do it. Hey-" he nudges her head off his shoulder and urges her to look at him, and when she does, she's astounded by what she sees. "-it's okay."

He's looking at her with such fond admiration, but it's unwarranted. She's just told him she'd killed somebody, and he doesn't seem to care. He seems almost _proud_ of her, but there's something else there that she doesn't quite understand. 

Is it kindness? Is Tom Riddle actually capable of feeling the genuine emotions he so naturally fakes?

"Why are you doing this?" she has to question, hating that she's so unsure, resenting that she's losing. 

He chuckles and, once again, the Tom Riddle she knows is back. He sets her down on her feet and, after a brief hesitation, he drags her over to the armchair. He positions her on his lap, that cold clinical smile still on his face."Because I want to know what you Saw, my dear little witch."

It's the answer she's been dreading. He's being kind to her out of his own self-interest. He wants her powers in order to use them for whatever it is he's doing. He's a snake in the grass just waiting to bite at her ankle. But then he nuzzles his nose against that patch of skin behind her ear while he strokes her hair tenderly. She feels his lips ghosting the shell of her ear, moving to the corner of her jaw, and it seems that he's itching for another kiss. 

She pulls back with furrowed eyebrows and really _looks_ at him. 

It can't just be to use her. If it was, his brown eyes wouldn't be as tender, his sweet lips wouldn't look as honest, and he wouldn't be holding her as if it were a privilege. 

So, she does the only thing she can think of to be sure of her suspicion. To confirm what she thinks about herself, and what she thinks about him. 

She kisses him. 

She kisses him and she expects him to grow furious, or sinful. She expects him to act on the urges that are driving his blood straight south, but he doesn't. 

His lips are gentle against hers, innocent open-mouth kisses that make her heart flutter. He runs his tongue tenderly across her top lip, and then her bottom. He's not demanding her to open up to him, he's _requesting_ it. He tastes like morning dew as their tongues brush against one another. It's not a battle for dominance like every other encounter they've had, but some beautiful mutual understanding where they're both on an even playing field. 

And then, she Sees something else, something amazing and heartwarming and it makes her sigh against his mouth. 

_No,_ she determines, tucking away that little prophecy in the back of her mind, determined to explore it at a later time. _This is more._


	10. Chapter 10

_TWICE NOW,_ fucking twice now Tom Riddle has been a coward. 

That night in the Room of Requirement has revealed something about himself. It opened up a side of him that he isn't ready to confront, the side that enjoys seeing the joy in Rosamaria's face when he was so sure he preferred fear instead. Not just her joy, no, it is more than that. Seeing her in her pretty little dresses with her pretty lips tipped in a shit-eating grin was too much for him. In that quiet moment, hidden away in a secret room, she had been honest, playful, resilient, and- dare he say- brave. He had been so enchanted with her, so drunk off her joy, that when she challenged him he had snapped. It wasn't his _greatest_ moment, pinning her up against the mirror and threatening her life, but it had just come about so naturally. 

She had been testing him, seeing just how far it would take for him to break that gentlemanly exterior he had tried so hard to maintain in her presence. He couldn't deny that he had felt a jolt of excitement when she did. And then, the moment of truth was when she revealed that she had once killed a man. It completely shattered the image he had of her. He thought she was so pure, so righteous, so pristine, but she is more than that. 

Rosamaria Adeladia Marquez is a survivor. He knows now that she uses her kindness to her advantage, whether she wants to admit it or not, but beneath all that honey is a pile of lemons. That darkness buried within her, the ability to take someone's life, just makes him all the more interested in her. It isn't an easy thing to kill someone, you have to mean it, and if Rosamaria is capable of that, he wonders what else she's capable of. 

After her confession, he had buried his nose in her hair, kissed her tenderly, and treated her like a precious object. He had given her admiration that he never wanted to bestow upon anyone other than himself. 

For a fleeting moment, he had seen her as an equal. 

However, he's still a coward. He's avoided her for most of the week, not wanting to see what would happen if they were too close to each other. All he wanted was to get close to her, to use her powers to his advantage, but now he feels that he's gotten _too_ close. 

He is taking a leisurely walk through the Hogwarts' grounds during his free period, trying to clear his mind which is something he has only had to do since her arrival at the school. He's almost there- the sun beating down beautifully on his pale skin, the cool breeze ruffling his hair- he's almost so close to serene indifference until he sees _her_. 

He curses the sight of her because she looks absolutely stunning and it makes him trip over his feet. She's standing at the edge of the Black Lake, her dainty bare feet submerged in the water. She's beautiful with her waist-length hair clipped away from her face and her extravagant black dress hugging her curves. 

Without deciding to, his feet will him to her side. He stands beside her, a healthy distance between them, and stares at her. Her lips are settled in a relaxed line, her eyes are staring at the waters in front of her, and her fingers are playing with the gold pendant that hangs between her cleavage. She doesn't acknowledge his presence, not even a bit. There is no sidelong glance, no tip of her head, not even a smile as she continues to stare at the lake. It's almost as if he's invisible, and Tom resents it. It brings him back to his days in the orphanage when he was nothing and no one would give him a second look and disregarded him like some day-old milk.

He opens his mouth to say something- _anything_ \- but she beats him to it. 

"I want to go for a swim," she says decidedly, nodding her head to herself, still not looking at him. 

Tom reels his head back. "Wait- you what?"

Finally, her gaze turns to him and all he sees is spring. 

He had excepted to see some sort of steely determination in her eyes, perhaps some hostility or condescension, but none of that is there. Her chocolate eyes are burden free, free from any sort of resentment. Her pink lips that are tipped up in a coy smile are the essence of forgiveness. There's something about her face, something about her persona, and it's absolutely breath-taking. Looking at her now, it's like breathing in honey, it's like the opposite of a Dementor's kiss, it's like watching a flower bloom right in front of his eyes. 

_Spring_. 

She doesn't seem to mind that his tongue is caught, or that he's staring at her with a mix of confusion and admiration. She's confident as she reaches around her back to work at the laces of her dress. Once she gets them undone, she bunches up the fabric at her thighs and pulls the dress off in one fell swoop. 

His mind works too quickly and his thoughts jumble up together. A part of him is insulted, remembering that it had taken him fucking ages to get her into one of her dresses and she has taken this one off as if it were nothing. The other stronger part of him is drooling like a pathetic teenager, not being able to comprehend the fact that a beautiful woman is undressing right in front of him. 

She's standing before him wearing an audaciously flimsy pink slip with all her jewelry intact, and he licks his lips when the breeze perks the buds hiding under the fabric. He doesn't understand why his blood runs hot as he watches her unclip her stockings and roll them down her smooth thighs-

"Ready?" 

His eyes snap up just in time to catch the cheeky smile on her face, obviously aware of the effect she has on him. He wants to curl his lips in disgust, snarl at her, but it's becoming increasingly difficult with her standing half-naked in front of him. So, instead, he settles for a fact. "You know we can't swim in there."

She takes in a deep breath as if summoning up patience. "Are you going to stop me or join me?"

At any other moment, any other time, Tom promises himself that he would have hexed her for that snappy comment, but he doesn't. His hormones are overriding his logical mind, begging him to not be a twat and join her for a swim. He wonders if Rosamaria is part Veela because that's exactly what he's going to do. 

"You're infuriating," he says, taking the time to slowly disrobe. With Rosamaria's eyes on him, he can't help but feel bashful for the first time in his life. Her eyes have some sort of mischievous glint to them as he finishes the last button on his shirt and shrugs it off. When he lowers his pants, he feels like he's a show pony for her amusement, and that she's assessing every single detail of him. 

That feeling goes away when she bites her bottom lip and outstretches her hand. He follows her wordlessly into the water, knowing that no one's around to watch them, but not caring nonetheless. 

"So, what's the point of this?" He feels the need to ask because the silence is deafening and the end of her long hair is floating around her like a halo and it's making her look like a fucking angel. 

"I want to swim to Bowtruck Island. I was reading _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , and I found the Bowtruckles increasingly interesting. We do not have them in Spain," she explains with a shrug, wading in the water, and her smile tells him that he won't like what she's going to say next. "Let's go underneath."

He's confused. Tom Riddle is so fucking confused and he hates it. Confusion is reserved for those of lesser minds and he is the greatest one to have existed. Shouldn't they be...talking? Isn't that what normal people do after having snogged twice? Is she fucking with him on purpose?

His mind can't help but wander to all these insidious thoughts. He thinks that this might all be a trick, dragging him into the Black Lake in order to hex him or obliviate him, but it's not. It can't be a trick, or a malicious plot because Rosamaria is just so _fucking_ genuine. She's barely said anything, but her face says it all. She's trying to be light and carefree and obliviously happy but she's not. In her eyes, spring is weening and her resolve to keep her facade up is crumbling. 

Normally, he'd love this. He'd love seeing her happiness crumble and her little effort disappear, but he can't love it today. He can't love it because behind her trying eyes he can see just how tired she is, and he can relate, he's fucking _exhausted_. 

He's exhausted of chasing her, exhausted of pretending his cock doesn't twitch every time she so much as smiles, and exhausted of denying how much she's won him over. 

He decides, in that quick fleeting second, that he'll graciously humor her. 

"The Grindylows?" he poses the question and he sees the little glimmer and amusement in her eyes at the fact that he's actually considering her request. "I'd rather not get attacked today."

"From my reading, they are pets of the Selkies."

"And you're not worried about them either?"

She cocks her head at him in slight disbelief. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she swims forward and daringly places her hands on his shoulder. "Are you frightened?"

His hands immediately latch onto her wrists but he doesn't push her away. His teeth grit and he's about to hex himself for even considering indulging her foolish request. "Nothing frightens me."

"Okay," she replies, unconvinced, tugging her hands away. "Then let's go." Before he can protest, she leverages herself on his shoulders and pushes him underwater, and a second later she joins him. 

It's beautiful underneath. He's seen bits and pieces of the lake in the dungeons, but that view doesn't hold a candle to the reality. The lake is deep and seemingly bottomless. There are pieces of jagged rock that come up every few meters, and seaweed that tangles around their ankles. It would be pitch black within the waters was it not for the trickle of light that makes their surroundings look ethereally green.

Rosamaria is holding herself underwater in front of him, smiling as her long hair catches in her fingers her necklaces bob up and down her face. Her slip is almost transparent now, highlighting every glorious inch of her body as it sticks to her like a second skin. She waves at him playfully as she smirks and takes off in quick strokes, urging him silently to catch up with her. 

He has never been more eager in his life. He reaches her quickly and his hands latch onto her waist, intending to claim his prize for agreeing to go along with this ridiculous stunt. She turns around with a start, and he doesn't know what to expect from the witch who is constantly surprising him, but he has to smile when she simply wraps her arms around his neck and drops her head onto his shoulder. In the water, she's weightless and he can easily guide her legs around his hips. His hands begin to play with her tangled wet hair, moving the strands so they dance in the water. 

It feels so different- her serenity, acceptance, and calmness- and he enjoys it more than words can describe. Trapped underwater, tangled together, away from his Knights and her Sight, everything between them feels so effortless. Winter and spring, the two battling seasons shouldn't fit as perfectly together as they are now. 

The moment is too peaceful. They're frozen in this moment of bare limbs shoved against each other and logic and reason temporarily disbanded. 

But the moment fades too quickly when Tom feels something brush up against his leg. At first, he doesn't give it any thought, not with the beautiful witch wrapped around his wet body and with her lips so close to his, but then he feels that same thing wrap around his ankle. 

In one smooth movement, he feels himself being pulled away from her and dragged further underwater. He opens his mouth to scream, but nothing but air bubbles come out as he struggles against his invisible enemy. But, his enemy isn't invisible, and when he looks down he sees the elusive giant squid that lives within this lake trying to drag him down to the bottom. He reaches for his wand, but he realizes that he foolishly left it on the bank of the lake. 

He feels his oxygen leaving him and barely recognizes Rosamaria swimming down to him with a panicked expression. She looks between a struggling Tom and the vindictive squid. For some reason, he wants to warn her to stay away from the beast, to swim until she reaches dry land, but he can't find his words with the water rushing into his mouth. Rosamaria, to her credit, doesn't panic. She swims up to the squid with narrowed eyes and begins to pet its tentacle. He watches with wide eyes as she soothes the monster, bending down to scratch its head and place a kiss on what can only be its nose. The squid squirms at her touch and, if he weren't on the brink of dying, Tom would snort. 

_Even the fucking squid likes her_. 

The squid releases him and Rosamaria wastes no time reaching for Tom and pulling him to the surface, dragging his body onto the bank of Bowtruckle Island as he catches his breath. 

"Tom," she shouts, brushing back his matted curls as she rests her hand on his bare chest, just above his heart. "Tom! Can you hear me-"

Tom lunges at her and it's fueled by hate and resentment. His blood is boiling as one hand pins her wrist above her head, and the other latches onto her throat. His mind is still fuzzy from the temporary loss of oxygen and his heart is beating a mile a minute. 

This fucking _bitch_. Offering him a swim, allowing him a peek at her scrumptious curves, it was all to kill him, wasn't it? That must have been her plan. He had known that going in this blasted lake was a terrible idea, but she had fucking charmed him into doing it. He doesn't realize that she's turning blue because of the pressure of his hand, and he can feel her heartbeat frantically with his fingers pressed against her pulse point. But her eyes, those lovely eyes are different. They aren't filled with fear, and for a moment he's relieved. Her eyes are lit with pure worry and concern, and she lifts her free hand to brush her knuckles around the very fingers that are squeezing the life from her. 

"Tom, you are okay."

And those words warm his wet and frigid heart. 

  
  


━━━━━━━━━━━

  
  


Rosamaria knows she should feel fear, but she doesn't. She's had several visions throughout the week when she was without his presence and was able to really think about her situation. Before this, she seldom had visions and they were never truly focused around her. These are different, these are all about her, about her future, about her destiny, and it's given her a clear resolve. Even better, those visions have taught her something. 

Tom Marvolo Riddle will _not_ hurt her. 

Her head is a little foggy as she feels her oxygen being cut off, but her eyes are still able to stay laser-focused on him. He's trembling, but not with rage. It's pure unadulterated fear in his eyes as he traps her wrists above her head, leaving her uniquely exposed to him. 

From what she's heard and witnessed, Tom doesn't _feel_ fear. No, if anything the wizard rejects the very notion of it. But she can see, with complete and utter certainty, that Tom Marvolo Riddle _fears_ death. 

"Tom," she breathes, but it's hoarse and weak. "You are okay."

She doesn't have any extra energy to spend - considering he _is_ choking her and she _did_ just soothe a wild beast- but she finds the will to wrap her fingers around the vengeful ones gripping her throat. She visibly sees the relaxing of his body, and she's supremely relieved when he snatches his hand away as if she burned him. There's a hint of regret in his dark eyes, but not enough for her to be certain. They remain in that peaceful silence as he leans down and presses his forehead against hers, letting out a breath of relief as his body stops quivering. 

She's reminded that they're half-naked and pressed against each other when his hand lets go of her wrist and settle on her waist. His touch is feather-light and so different that the Tom she's come to expect. There is something desperate about his touch- tethering- and it makes her wonder if he had thought that she had done this on purpose. He's so soft, so fragile, so breakable. 

This is when she realizes for certain, that she is done. 

"I can not do this anymore," she breathes, rolling her head back and closing her eyes, zeroing in on the delectable feeling of him lazily tracing her collarbone. 

"What?" he mumbles, almost as if in a daze. 

"Keep running from you," she opens her eyes to find him smirking as if he's coming out victorious in some sort of game. She knows the game, she had tried playing it with him, but she's tired and wants to throw the board over. 

"I understand you're terrified-"

"Of you?" she interrupts, laughing a little. "Oh, yes I am. You terrify me. Is that what you want to hear? Your mood swings, the rumors, the way your friends cower beneath you..." she trails off as her hand gently brushes against his arm. "I am terrified."

He cocks his eyebrow as his jaw clenches, perhaps trying to hold back the tingles her touch leaves behind. "But..."

"But I can not keep running," she says lifting her hands so she can cup his cheeks, smiling at how smooth his skin is and at how he bites his lip at the sensation. "I know that your initial interest in me was my Sight."

Tom snickers and props himself on his elbows so he can relax over her. "To use to my advantage, you're smart enough to know that."

She narrows her eyes in irritation. "For something that I do not know but can only assume is bad..."

But then she laughs again, enjoying that for some reason he's laughing along with her. Their situation is utterly ridiculous. She's been running from him, avoiding him, and playing with him. He's been hunting her, harassing her, and threatening her. But none of it seems to matter anymore as their laughs mix in a beautiful melody and he shifts so he can lie down beside her. She rolls over so that he can drape his arm over her waist and pull her closer. 

"So tell me, my little Spanish witch," he begins, drawing little circular patterns on her back. "You seemed to have discovered my somewhat nefarious plans. Why aren't you running?" 

She can't believe she's going to say this. She feels like she's out of her mind. This sudden change in her attitude toward Tom had been that, a bit sudden. It's only been a week since her violent realization, and it still feels weird voicing it. She's already admitted she's a Seer, so why not pour salt in the wound? 

"Because of what I have Seen." She _has_ to giggle when she hears his heartbeat quicken. "Oh, Tom..." 

Tom's excitement simply radiates over him as his pupils dilate and the corners of his lips tip up. "What? What is it? What did you see-"

"Us."

"What?"

She pulls away so she can observe his wide eyes, the shock on his face which she's sure not many people are graced with. His lashes are covered in soft little water droplets that trickle down his nose to his lips. He looks so god-like, the mythical anti-hero, the tortured character, but he's more than that. She shakes her head, enjoying leaving him hanging as she trails her fingers down his pale chest. 

"I Saw _us_ ," she clarifies, smiling as his eyes soften just a bit. "When I first touched you, I Saw something terrible. It was _war_ and there was this monster that killed me. I was so sure you were going to lead me to my death, but the picture changed."

Tom wrinkles his brows. "How did it change? Is that even possible?"

"It just did," she says with a shrug, and she can tell that he doesn't like this answer by the little growl that he lets out. "Oh, calm down, Tom. I am not lying to you. Visions sometimes do not come true. Any amount of factors can change or alter them."

"Tell me what's going to happen," he demands, pulling her closer to him and forcing his leg in between hers. "I swear to Salazar-"

"Tom, just relax," she laughs, smoothening the angry lines on his forehead, not at all deterred by another one of his mood swings. "The Sight does not work like that."

"Says every fucking Seer on the planet."

"That is not my point," she presses, building up the courage to get to her point. "I Saw our kiss. I Saw us years from now, I think. I Saw you- your beautiful face- smiling down at me as we danced under fairy lights. I Saw us happy and peaceful. I Saw us complete." She wonders whether or not this answer pleases him because all she can read from his is confusion. He doesn't say anything, so she continues. "No matter what I do, it always comes back to you. I can run, I can avoid you, I can give in, and nothing changes. It is always just _us_ and I am tired of fighting it."

"Finally, you came to your senses," Tom says with a smirk, although she can tell he's supremely relieved by her decision. It's almost like a weight has been lifted off his broad shoulders. She wonders if he's just as fucking tired as she is. 

"Tom," she begins, wrapping her arms around his neck as she breathes in the scent of peppermint and winter. "If you could see where your journey leads, how far would you go to change it?"

"You've asked me that before."

"But I do not think you gave me an answer."

Tom bites his lip as he rubs soothing circles on her hip that makes her eyes flutter shut. "I guess it would depend on what I Saw."

"Mhm..." she mumbles, internally scoffing at his answer. It's not that fucking easy, and she knows it. "Whatever _this_ is, it is not going anywhere. I know you care about me for more than just my Sight."

Suddenly, Tom pulls himself away. He forcefully tears her arms from his neck with a look of horror. He shakes his head. "No."

He's trying to convince himself more than her, and she knows this. She rolls her eyes, deciding that _she_ must be the one to shed light on the situation. Tom is stubborn and sometimes horses need to be led to the water. 

She pushes down his shoulders and mounts herself on top of him, bracing her hands on either side of his face as she dips down and glides her nose across his ear. "Yes you do, you stubborn wizard. I have decided that I am okay with what is going to happen. I do not want to deny what we are and will be to each other. Would it really be so terrible to do as the Fates will? I am willing to see where this goes. The question is, why are you not?"

"I could never care for you," he hisses but she's not convinced. His words are venom but his eyes are losing their resolve. His fury is apparent but it's lacking conviction. 

"I know you can," she replies, bringing her lips over to ghost his jaw. "Just like I know what you are going to do next."

Tom swallows audibly as his hands find her waist. "Did you See it?"

"No," she says with a shake of her head and a slight moan as his hands wander to her bum. "I just know."

And then their lips are crashing together as he thrusts his hips up against her with a satisfied groan, and she wonders why she ever wanted to resist this in the first place.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe, sorry for the cliff hanger, but I'm sure you can guess what's going to happen next. It doesn't take a Seer to realize it!
> 
> Thanks for reading, y'all! I'll see you soon!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little smutty goodness ahead...you've been warned!

_ IF TOM WERE ABLE TO DREAM, THIS WOULD BE A DREAM COME TRUE. _

Rosamaria's lips are soft against his and they taste like honey, just like he remembers and it's sweeter than anything he could ever buy at Honeydukes. She's sitting on top of him, her hips moving in lustful grinds against his crotch which he encourages with his hands on her arse urging her on. 

He had wondered when his hands would be able to trace her curves and indulge in her again, and it's supremely better than any of his fantasies. He's breathing heavily as she rakes her nails down his chest and runs her tongue along his bottom lip. His lips move to her neck, peppering it with kisses before his lips latch onto the juncture of her shoulder and he bites down-  _ hard _ . 

"Tom," she gasps, throwing her head back as she runs her hand through her hair. 

He smiles as he runs his tongue on the bite and then flips her over so that he can trap her against the grass. He's thought about this moment for so long, the moment he could ram himself in her and unleash all his pent up frustrations. He's waited for the moment he could use her, dirty her, and prove to her that she's no better than he is. 

He shoves his tongue down her throat, and to his surprise, she allows him in willingly. It's a messy, sloppy, and desperate kiss with absolutely no finesse or grace. They lap each other, battling for the type of dominance that solely belongs to him, and when she's just about to win the battle, he digs his nails in her thigh.  The battle is won for him as she gives in and allows his tongue to taste every crevice of her mouth. He realizes to his immense pleasure that she's enjoying this. Her body is urging him on, trying to tug him closer as her legs wrap around his waist. 

"Is this what you want?" Tom hisses against her lips, rushing to reach in between them and pull her underwear down. "You have to tell me."

"Yes," she sighs, letting out the most delicious moan when he runs a finger down her slick folds. He sees her eyelids flutter as his thumb expertly flicks at her swollen bud. 

He chuckles as he pulls down her slip to capture one of her pert breasts in his mouth, lapping at the skin and leaving little red splotches. "Already so wet for me..." he purs mockingly, sliding a finger in her as he bites down roughly. "So tight too..."

"Tom..." She's complaining, whining below him and he can't have that. 

"Stay  _ still _ ," he commands, pumping his fingers at a relentless pace as he yanks her head to the side. "I'll give you what you want, my dirty witch. There's just something I need to make exceedingly clear."

"Anything, Tom," she cries, nodding her head rapidly. "Please."

Oh, how much he  _ loves _ this. This is all he wants, her begging him to have his way with her, submitting to him in a way she's not used to. To everyone else, she's perfect little Lady Rosamaria, but underneath him and in his control, she's nothing but a slut. He has to thank her ridiculous visions for this change in her, this willingness to be dominated with relentless passion. 

"Do you know how long I've wanted to fuck you?" he questions honestly, grabbing her chin so he can force her to look at him because he wants to see every inch of her beautiful face. "If we do this, it means one thing and one thing only. After this, you are  _ mine _ ."

These words shock him. He hadn't been planning on saying it but, regardless, he believes them. This is what he has been building to. His obsession with her and her Sight, his body's stubborn reactions to her, all of that was just driving him toward having ownership of her, claiming her. If he had said those words weeks ago, he would have cringed. However, now that it has been spoken, he can't want anything more. There's a brief moment when he thinks that she's changed her mind. It seems like her head clears for a moment because she doesn't look drunk off her pleasure anymore. His fingers are still nestled inside her, and even when he wiggles them, scissors them to elicit some sort of reaction from her, she stays silent. 

He's afraid that she's going to push him off, that she's going to deny him of what is rightfully  _ his _ , but she doesn't. She leans up and softly kisses him and she's so tender that he forgets that he wants to destroy her. It's such a different sensation from the animalistic rage he had just been giving her. It's so sweet and so precious and he hates the fact that he adores it.  It also fuels him. Her confirmation that he's captured his prize settles in the spot where his heart should be and his fingers move at a more tortuous pace, trying to drag out this one moment of fleeting happiness.  When she pulls back, she nods with an innocent little smile on her face, like it was her plan all along to make him weak for her. 

"Good," he smirks, moving his hands to hastily shove his underwear down his legs. He strokes himself, once, twice, before aligning himself with her cunt, muttering a quick contraceptive spell under his breath. "This won't be gentle. I hope you weren't expecting that."

Her eyes widen with both fear and lust, and oh  _ Salazar _ what that does to him. It makes him lose control and he slams into her without a second thought. " _ Fuck _ ..." She's warm and tight and perfect and all his. He doesn't start slow, he doesn't know if he's a virgin, but at this moment he doesn't care. All he can focus on is how high he feels brutally thrusting into her, hearing her desperate sinful cries, feeling her tremble under him. " _Salazar_ , Rosamaria..."

When he looks down, he sees tears sliding down her closed lids, and for a moment he wonders if he has been too rough on her. He had warned her that he wouldn't be gentle, he hadn't hidden this part of himself in his rushed foreplay. Whenever he's had sex in the past, this is how it had been- brutal, relentless, and all about him. However, there's something about seeing her tears that makes him momentarily forget how much he enjoys them. Sex has always been just sex, but he's not ignorant enough to forget that for a woman it's so much more. In a moment of weakness, he drops his forehead against hers and wipes her tears away. He kisses her forehead, her nose, her cheeks until she finally opens her eyes and he's shocked at what he's looking at. 

Her tears must have been the tears of a virgin because now her lips are parted in a delicious 'o' and her eyes are passionately burning into his. He realizes that she likes this, fuck that, she  _ loves  _ it. She's moaning, clawing at him, throwing her head back so he can see that beautiful bite he left on her neck.  _ Mine _ . 

"Harder," she whispers, roughly scratching his scalp, furrowing her eyebrows when his cock hits a particular glorious spot in her cunt. "Tom?"

He lets out an exasperated breath as he slows down, intentionally disobeying her weak command. "Like this?"

"Tom, _coño_..."

"Who said you were in charge?" he asks, pulling out quickly and flipping her over before she can say anything in response. He scoops her up by her stomach, forcing her on her hands and knees as her arse shoots up into the air. He bites his bottom lip as he runs his hand across one of her cheeks. "You think you call the shots?"

_ Smack _ .

"Tom," she moans, rocking back into him, searching for something only he can give her. Her voice is a tad bit high, her accent is a tad bit obvious. "Tom, _por favor_..."

He drives into her as his hand connects with her cheek. Again and again and again. Each thrust timed with a perfectly delivered slap that only makes her moan louder. He reaches his arm to grab her throat and pulls her body up so she's resting on his lap as he continues to fuck her the way he's always wanted to. 

"Who knew you were such a dirty witch?" he teases, bucking his hips up as he squeezes her throat. "Tell me, my dirty witch. Who do you belong to?"

He's slamming into her mercilessly, not allowing her some relief from the pressure on her throat, but she rolls her head back to rest on his shoulder and replies. "Y-you..."

"I'm sorry," he chuckles, moving one of his hands between her legs. "I don't think I heard you." He's pushing her over the edge with the way his fingers pinch at her nub. "I want to hear you scream. Can you scream for me, Rosamaria?"

It only takes a few more calculated thrusts, a few more slick circles, and she's crying out his name like a muggle prayer, gasping at what he hopes is her first orgasm. Once she's fully spent- weak, slick with sweat, and exhausted- he shoves her into the grass and puts his hand on the back of her neck as he fucks her with all the power he has. 

His mind wanders for a brief moment as he watches her claw at the grass and cry out his name. Is this what she Saw?  _ Them _ ? Is this what the future holds?  Her crying out his name? Him feeling nothing but warmth spread through him? The delicious clenching of his thighs as he throws his head back and empties himself within her?

He slips out of her and lands on her back, both of them equally spent as the hot sun beats down on them. Without giving it much thought, he moves on his back and drags her to him, tucking her leg over his waist as his lips find the crown of her head. 

Would it be so bad, he thinks,  _ caring _ about her? At the moment, he feels nothing but pure pride at making her just as dirty as he is, but it's more than that. 

He doesn't  _ need _ to lean down and whisper in her ear, asking her if she's okay. He doesn't  _ need _ to use his underwear to clean up the mess between her legs. He doesn't  _ need  _ to stick around, to hold her close to him as if she's going to Disapparate any second. 

But he does. 

Because he understands now. It's them. It's them now, it's them in the future, and it's them in her perfect pretty picture. 

_ Us _ . 

  
  


━━━━━━━━━━━

  
  


They're lying in the grass, she still has her slip covering her but Tom's as bare as the day he was born. She feels the soreness between her legs, but the finger trailing her spine makes the aching disappear. 

She can't believe that she just let Tom Riddle- the most insufferable man she's ever met- take her virginity. She should feel dirty at the filthy things he hissed at her, and she should feel degraded by acknowledging that she is his and his alone, but she doesn't.  She loved every second of it. Rosamaria is always in control, she's always perfect and poised and pristine, but with him, she was able to let everything go. 

He had told her that he doesn't and won't ever care about her, but she knows that's not true. He's taking care of her, perhaps as a lover or perhaps as a prize, but he's doing it nonetheless. He's asking her if she's okay, he's cleaning her up, and he's peppering the crown of her head with kisses.  She's still terrified but she knows he won't hurt her, that's not what she's terrified of. She's terrified of what it means to simply accept her future, to not fight against it, to let it unravel in whatever way it chooses to. 

_ If you could see where your journey leads, would you try to change it? _

No, at this moment, she wouldn't. 

"What is it you want most?"

Rosamaria wrinkles her nose as she rolls onto her stomach so she can prop her chin on his chest. "What?"

"You heard me," he whispers huskily, fingering one of her curls. Her hair was perfectly groomed before, but the water and sweat have brought it back to its natural state of curly, messy, tresses. "What is it you want most?"

She thinks about this for a moment, temporarily paralyzed by the adoring eyes looking at her, and the tender finger petting her lip. "To be happy, I suppose."

It's a simple enough question and it's a simple enough answer. There are many things she wants- jewelry, fine foods, pretty dresses- but in the end, none of those things matter. It didn't matter when she was growing up in a loving home, and it didn't matter when her parents were brutally murdered in front of her. With happiness, you can want for nothing. With happiness, any things that are thrown your way can be handled. However, her answer doesn't seem to please him. He lets out a huff as he rolls his eyes at her. 

"Wow," he mocks, shaking his head as he swipes his thumb against his bite mark. "Very original."

She grits her teeth, momentarily questioning her judgment at letting him fuck her raw. She shouldn't feel like she wants to prove herself to him, but she does. Tom is mysterious, dark, stubborn, and relentless. "Fine. I suppose I want to do what I was born to."

"And that is?"

She recalls the wonderful memories of her youth before the world came crashing down around her. She remembers the lessons her father had taught her about what it meant to be a Duchess. She loves taking care of people, of being in charge of their future- ironically- and she wants to make peoples' lives peaceful and perfect. 

She bites her bottom lip with a smile. "Rule. I was born to rule."

He raises his eyebrows as if her answer bewilders him, but then the cruel smirk she's all too familiar with stretches his lips. He hoists her up so that their faces are level now and, now that she's his, he claims her bottom lip and tugs it. "And rule you shall, my darling." 

There's something ominous in his tone, something that makes her shiver despite the heat in the air, but the feeling completely goes away as he captures her lips in a sensual kiss. He crushes his fingers down her neck, lays on the grass, and instigates another round of vigorous sex. This feeling is like nothing she's ever experienced before. It's everything, it's destined, it's _them_. 

It's them now, it's them in the future, and it's them in their perfect pretty picture. 

_Us._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do we think? A realistic portrayal of our tragic Tom Riddle in the bedroom (well, not the literal bedroom)?


	12. Chapter 12

Rosamaria is in the library, diligently working on the three-foot Charms essay that's due in a week. Granted, she doesn't need to work too hard seeing as though she is quite adept at Charms, but studying has always been able to put her mind at ease. Her mind has been nothing but a whirlwind in the last few days. Although she has fully embraced her relationship with Tom, that doesn't quite silence all the nagging questions in her mind. In those few days after taking her virginity, he has been nothing like the young man she had first met. It's as if the sheer confirmation of their destined fates has given him a split personality. With her, he has been kind, gentle, docile even. With others, he still holds that proud smirk and superior eyes.

She shakes her head- physically as if it'll get rid of the pestering thoughts- and dives back into her work until after a few minutes she finds a quiet and peaceful rhythm. Her peace, however, is quickly interrupted by the presence of a young witch she hasn't spoken to in two weeks.

"Rosamaria," Madelina says her name timidly, and she absolutely has every reason to. Rosamaria fancies herself a compassionate person, but there is a hidden layer of rage buried within her, especially when someone has so blatantly compared her to mud on shoes. Madelina is teetering back and forth on her heels, her manicured nails fussing the corners of her tie and she can't seem to make direct eye contact with the person she's called for. "Can I...well, can we talk?"

Rosamaria raises a dismissive eyebrow as she continues on writing. "I was wondering when you would show up."

"Well, I suppose I was afraid. See, I'm not a Gryffindor and I don't fancy myself brave. I was sure you'd be angry with me."

Rosamaria quietly puts down her work and turns to look up at the girl. She drags out the silence, quietly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and clasping her hands out in front of her. She takes a deep breath and looks at Madelian dead in the eyes, eyebrows furrowed and lips set in a telling scowl. "You have not seen me angry yet."

Her tone of voice is slicing, withering from a young woman who has been nothing but kind in the past. Her words are a warning to Madelina, a warning that the depths of her rage are far superior to anything she has ever seen. Rosamaria was raised with pride, with purpose, and taught through a noble upbringing to never accept anything less than what she deserves. 

And she believes she deserves an apology. 

Madelina gulps with a timid nod as she sits down across from her. "I'd like to explain myself and I feel like I need to apologize about what I said the other day."

"I am waiting," Rosamaria says with the utmost patience, mimicking the voice of her father when he had to instill punishment. 

Madelina worries her bottom lip as she wrings her hands. "I mean...what I said, it's true. It just makes sense that someone with two magical parents has more magic than someone with one or none. The math just adds up-"

"Is this supposed to be an apology?" Rosamaria smarts, chuckling coldly. "You said that you felt like you _needed_ to apologize, not wanted to. Do you truly not see anything wrong with what you just said?"

Madelina blushes, maybe out of ignorance or embarrassment, she can't tell. "It's just...it's all I know."

"So, that is it then? Your superiority is supposedly earned from nothing more than your blood status? We half-bloods and muggle-borns are no better than roaches in your opinion. You are content with treating us like nothing."

"No!" Madelina yells a bit too loudly, prompting the librarian to hush her. "No," she repeats, this time in a whisper. "Just because my blood makes me superior, doesn't mean I have to be rude."

"So you do think I am beneath you?”

Madelina pales and Rosamaria knows it's because she believes that she is. Normally, she would not be so cruel with her words, normally she would avoid these subjects and try to be as diplomatic as possible, but she can't. She leans forward, yanking Madelina's hand and drawing it to the center table. "You have not been rude to me, Madelina. You have been very kind. But do _not_ mistake _my_ kindness as a weakness. You are _not_ superior to me in any way shape or form-"

"-Rosamaria, I didn't-"

"-But you were thinking it." She loosens her grip. "I am going to make this exceedingly clear because apparently, it has not been obvious. Here at Hogwarts, I am still paving my way. I am still proving to others that the respect I command is warranted. I was raised the right way, to not judge people for things such as sexuality, color, or blood-status. I, unlike you, have _earned_ this respect. Until you do the same, I recommend that you never even so much as think that thought again. I am _not_ beneath you."

Rosamaria takes a deep breath, bringing her fingers to her temples. She absolutely hates the fact that the girl she's grown to care for is a proud blood-supremacist, but she knows deep down that the girl means no harm. She can understand the brainwashing that must have occurred, some would even argue that Rosamaria went through the same thing. However, while Madelina's parents spewed hatred, Rosamaria's preached kindness. She can see the honesty in Madelina's eyes, and she knows the girl is nothing but a sweet candy wrapped in a disgusting coat. 

"So, now that has been said, let us not mention it again," she says, brushing her thumb against Madelina's hand. "Best we do not speak of it. I will never agree with you, but that does not mean I hate you."

Madelina's eyes brighten. "So, all is forgiven?"

"Yes," Rosamaria replies with a sincere smile. "All is forgiven."

Madelina, without any warning, suddenly jumps across the table and throws her arms around Rosamaria. The clumsy girl is so uncoordinated that she practically lands on her lap, but Rosamaria doesn't care. It's nice having her back, and she doesn't realize how much she's missed her until she feels tears prickling her eyes.

"Enough of that," Rosamaria sniffs, wiping her tears away. "Let us talk about something else, _anything_ else."

Madelina nods rapidly as she slides off her lap and sits beside her. "I'd love to! I'm so glad we've made up because I would love it if you would come to my wedding! I was going to invite you that day at Hogsmeade but..."

"Of course, I will!" Rosamaria smiles, clapping her hands together. "Summer, right?"

"No, we've changed the date. We decided to have it during the winter holiday!"

"Why? What is the rush? Are you suddenly very impatient?"

And then Madelina blushes- furiously and pointedly- and she begins to tinker with her school robes. "Um..."

"Yes?" Rosamaria says, raising her eyebrow skeptically. "What is it?"

"Well, I may or may not be...sort of...pregnant."

Rosamaria lets out a scandalized gasp followed by a string of giggles as she looks down at Madelina's flat stomach. "And here I thought you were so strict on tradition."

"Oh, I am," Madelina says sheepishly, the double entendre not going over her head. "But, I mean, Cornelius and I are best friends. And _technically_ the baby won't be a bastard if we're married first."

"I would be delighted to attend," Rosamaria says, earning a wide smile from her friend. "I will be staying at Hogwarts over the break but-"

"No!" Madelina interrupts, shaking her head. "That's ridiculous! Everyone is staying at Chapman Manor for the wedding and I insist you be there! But, nobody knows about the baby so you can't breathe a word of this to anyone!"

Rosamaria rolls her eyes. "Of course I will not."

Then, suddenly an idea strikes her. Madelina has confided in something that would be utterly shameful if it got out. She trusted her enough to share this secret- to be a _true_ friend- and Rosamaria can't help but want to show her the same courtesy. It's a risk, she knows this, but with the ugly past behind them, Rosamaria sees this as a chance to move forward. Madelina is extending an obscenely long olive branch, and Rosamaria would be stupid to not reach for it. 

She looks around as she bites her bottom lip, seeing that they are alone in the library now. She pulls Madelina's chair closer to her and leans forward. "Do you want to know the sex?"

"Obviously," Madelina says with a roll of her eyes. "But not even magic can detect it for a few more weeks."

"Some magic can..."

"What are you saying?"

It's a split second, a fleeting moment, a lingering hesitation. 

"I am a Seer."

"You're a _what_?"

Rosamaria flushes as she looks around and clamps her hand over Madelina's mouth. _"Díos,_ Madelina, do you want the entire school to know? This is not something I share with everyone, so I need you to keep this a secret. Now, do you want to know your baby's sex?"

Madelina schools her shock and nods her head rapidly, all but ripping Rosamaria's hand away from her mouth. "So, you can just See it? Just like that?"

"It does not really work like that," Rosamaria laughs.

Madelina groans. "That's what-"

"-ever Seer says, I know." She leans forward more. "The point is that it just comes to me, like all other Seers. I can not control it, but that does not mean I can not try. It has been said that sometimes all you need is a little nudge. So...want to test it out?"

Madelina squeals as she grabs Rosamaria's hands and yanks them to her stomach, closing her eyes in quiet anticipation. Rosamaria closes her eyes as well, and for a moment there is nothing but silence and darkness. She feels like it was a mistake getting Madelina's hopes up until a fluttering white light illuminates the corners of the darkness.

And sure enough, she Sees it.

_"Mother! That isn't fair!" a young girl shouts, her curly blonde hair catching in her mouth every so often as the wind forces it in every direction. "Why does Sirius get to play in the field but I don't!"_

_An older woman with pristine robes and perfectly groomed blonde hair kneels down in front of the child who can't be older than four or five. Her curly hair has been tamed pin-straight and rests in a tight bun at the base of her neck. There is no smile on her lips, they are set in an unforgiving and cold frown, but her eyes betray her with a flicker of amusement._

_Madelina._

_"Because Sirius is a boy and boys- for some reason- enjoy playing in the dirt. I forbid you to ruin that pretty dress of yours-"_

_"But mother!"_

_"No!" the woman snaps, shaking her head at the girl. "A beautiful girl like yourself should keep herself composed and_ clean _. One of my dear old friends would be horrified if she saw your pretty dress all mucked up. Now, enough of this. I am going to see if the house-elves have finished dinner."_

_The young girl pouts as her mother disappears and she crosses her arms over her chest with a definitive pout. The young boy who was rolling around in the dirt spots her, frowns, and then runs up to her with a wide smile._

_"I got you something!" he cheers, ruffling his shaggy black hair as he rolls on his heels in front of her. "Ra-Ra! Hey! Come on! Look!"_

_The young girl wipes away a few tears as she looks up at her friend and her buck-toothed smile comes into view as she accepts a handful of flowers the boy has picked for her._

_"Mother is going to be crossed!" the girl yells, but there is a hint of mischief in her ocean blue eyes. "Thank you, Ri-Ri!"_

_The boy blushes as he sits down beside her and holds her hand. "Anything for you, Ra-Ra."_

_"Cradle to grave?" the young girl questions, giggling when the boy nods his head rapidly._

_He wraps his arms around her shoulders and brings her in for a tight hug. "Always, Ra-Ra."_

_"Forever-"_

_"-and ever-"_

_"-and ever-"_

_"-and ever."_

_Suddenly, the young girl's mother calls their names and the children hurry to tidy themselves up, disappearing into the light._

Rosamaria snaps back to reality, her eyes wide as the hazy fog disappears. She can't help but be positively delighted with what she Saw.

"Well!" Madelina says anxiously. "What did you See?"

Rosamaria cups her friend's cheek and she smiles. "Oh, she's gorgeous. This precious little thing with your bushy blonde hair and these beautiful bucked teeth. She was playing with this little black-haired boy and he picked flowers for her."

"What was her name?" Madelina questions eagerly, practically jumping in her seat. She takes her words like capital T truth, not at all hesitant or skeptical. "Did you manage to catch it?"

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes! Yes!"

Rosamaria knows that she is doing nothing wrong with sharing what she learned, although she doesn't know how that will affect the outcome. She hesitates for a moment until she realizes that things will work out the way they do. Perhaps they'll have a boy, perhaps they won't. However, she is so overjoyed at being able to share her Sight with someone with absolutely no nefarious plans for it. She's pleased that she could give Madelina even one moment of happiness. 

She rolls her lips into her mouth as she leans back on her seat. 

"Aurelia Chapman."

  
  


━━━━━━━━━━━

  
  


"Madelina, can I ask you something?"

The two girls have once again found themselves eating up in the Astronomy Tower, wanting more time for just the two of them to spend together after weeks of not speaking. Madelina nods her head as she sets her plate down beside her. "Yeah, what is it?"

"What can you tell me about Tom?"

Madelina blanches at the name and she scratches the back of her neck nervously. "Why do you want to know about Tom?"

"Can you answer the question?" Rosamaria grits, a bit aggravated by her friend's hesitation. It had taken her all of dinner to hold back the question on the tip of her tongue, and she's sure that her patience is running out. 

"Fine," Madelina huffs, turning so she can sit cross-legged and facing her. "Tom is..well...Tom? He's brilliant really, always acing whatever it is he's assigned. He's rather quiet but can have a quick temper. He's kind of the leader of our little gang if you haven't noticed that already."

Rosamaria snorts, recalling how all the Slytherins are basically at his beck and call. "Oh, I have. What else?"

"Can you maybe ask me a question?" Madelina asks, shaking her head in distaste. "I don't really feel good talking about Tom like this."

"He hasn't... _done_ anything to you, right?"

"No!" Madelina practically shouts, shooting her hands out and almost knocking over their pumpkin juice. "No, no, Salazar, no! It's just that, Tom isn't the kind of person that likes having people talk about him. He's quite intimidating." 

Rosamaria can see the hesitancy in her friend's blue eyes, the apprehension of speaking even one ill word about Tom. She realizes this is making her uncomfortable, but she has to know. 

Since her day with Tom at the Black Lake, things had changed between them- for obvious reasons. She's learned a lot about Tom in the quiet moments they shared together. She learned that he likes his tea with an audacious amount of sugar, that sometimes when he's marinating a though he rotates his ring in patterns of seven, and that he didn't like being told no. But everything else, he keeps these secrets close to his chest. He's overwhelmingly gentle with her- outside of the bedroom of course- and it's a distinct contrast to how he prances around the school as if he owns it. He asks her several questions about her upbringing, the things she likes to do, what she enjoys reading, how she spent her summers in Spain, but he never responds to questions that she poses. 

It's been a relief to let her worries go and simply bask in his tender touches and loving voice. She knows that either way, she can't escape him, and she doesn't want to anymore. But that doesn't stop the nagging in her head or the fluttering of her stomach. 

"Is he a good person?" That's the true question that's been bugging her since the day she met him. Surprisingly, she still hasn't figured out the answer to it. He seems _good_ but she questions whether or not it's genuine or solely reserved for her. 

Madelina's breath hitches and she averts her eyes. "Tom is...complicated. I'm no expert on him, none of us are, but I don't think he's evil if that's what you're wondering. Something tells me that he's just had a tough life and he tends to take that out on people, but that doesn't make him bad, right?"

"I guess not," Rosamaria replies, seeing as how she's taken a life, but she doesn't consider herself evil. She is lucky to have had such a wonderful upbringing, but the same can not be said for everyone else. 

"Rosamaria..." Madelina presses, scooting closer to her. "Is there something going on between you and Tom?"

Rosamaria blushes as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She wants to be honest, and she knows that Madelina would never betray her trust. "I have Seen us- him and me- in the future. From what I can tell, we have a very happy life ahead of us."

"Oh!" Madelina cheers, reaching over to grasp her hands. "Then why are you asking me all these questions? You know you're bound together, so what's the point?"

Rosamaria shakes her head in frustration. "This Sight is a curse, I tell you! I have stopped resisting the pull we have, but I do not want us to simply be together because of that. I would hope that I have a choice in the matter, Sight be damned. I would hope that the man in my future is decent and good."

"Maybe you do have a say in it," Madelina suggests, shrugging her shoulders. "You have proven to me- especially today- that you aren't one to be pushed around or treated lightly. I can't attest to Tom's character, but as I said, I think he's troubled but not evil. If you feel like you're happy with him, that's all that matters."

"I am happy," Rosamaria confesses with a shaky breath. "And that is the terrifying part about it. I just had a very different idea of what my life would be like."

_Ruling beside her family. Marrying for both love and healthy diplomatic relationships. Summers by the Baltic seas. Christmas in the Grand Hall. Festival feasts with the villagers._

"I know one thing for certain."

Rosamaria brings herself away from her troubling thoughts. She sees that Madelina's smile is wide and beaming, that her eyes have a school-girl quality to them. "What?"

"If you've Seen a future together where you two are happy, then there is nothing Tom wouldn't do to give you a wonderful life," Madelina says, reaching over to grab her hand. "I know that he will never hurt you."

Rosamaria gulps but feels her concerns slowly melt away with every brush of her thumb and every squeeze of her hand. "How can you know that?"

"Because despite some of Tom's flaws. He treasures the things he cares about."

And Rosamaria smiles because, in Madelina's beautiful blue eyes, there isn't an inch of doubt. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We had to give ourselves some proper girl time, right? I liked writing this different side of Rosamaria. I think she's a bit complicated to portray. On one hand, she's so kind and giving and trustworthy, but on the other hand, she can be as frightening as Tom when the situation demands it. There are two very distinct sides to her and I'm interested to see which side will become more prominent as she spends more time with Tom.  
> Hope you've liked this!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was in the mood for a double post! I always like to give a little bit of Tom time every update!
> 
> Warning, a quick bit of tame smuttiness ahead!

_TRUE TO MADELINA'S PREDICTIONS,_ Tom has been nothing but a gentleman to Rosamaria. It's been a week filled with nothing but happiness and passion. Madelina's words were true as well, Tom has shown himself exceedingly willing to treasure those he cares about. She remembers him saying that he could never care for her, that he _wouldn't_ , and she hasn't been cruel enough to point out to him that he already does. It's simple really. If she wants something, he always manages to get it for her. 

One night at dinner, she was upset that the house-elves hadn't prepared anything other than roast beef- a food that isn't particularly her favorite- and three minutes after she had expressed that fact, a house-elf personally presented her with her favorite meal. When she had gasped at the decadent foie gras with rhubarb and duck breast, Tom simply kissed her forehead and told her to enjoy her meal. 

There was a time in Charms when she was seated at the very back of the room, upset that the boy in front of her was too tall and blocked her view of the professor, and in a matter of seconds, Tom had shortened his height- he assured her that the git would regain his true form once the class ended. 

When Druella and Walburga kept spewing horrid things about Theodora Clearwater and congratulating Declan on messing up the mudblood's face, one withering look from Tom had shut them up, and she hasn't heard a thing about it since. 

He is everything she's ever wanted, someone kind with a similar intellect, someone who mercilessly aided her in her studies, and someone who exuded the same amount of personal strength as her. 

And, as for the bedroom, it was a different matter entirely. Tom, being the proud Slytherin he is, loves to dominate her. There was nothing he wouldn't try, be it magically restraining her or torturously withholding her orgasms. She would never take the wheel, and the second his lips touched her, she was always at his mercy.

She doesn't mind it much, this unique display of submissive behavior from her. It's actually refreshing. In front of everyone else, Tom doesn't mind catering to her every whim and doing what she asks, but in the bedroom, _he's_ in charge. Similarly, Rosamaria can let her rigid poise drop in their privacy. She is allowed to let loose and be free, allowed to let someone else take control. It's a pleasant break from reality where she is no longer a former duchess itching to have people to rule over or a proud woman who can make everyone bend to her will. 

They are astoundingly compatible, and it scares the living daylights out of her because of how perfectly they mold together- physically and mentally. They have a toxic relationship- not because he physically or verbally abuses her- but because they can never get enough of each other. They become drunk in each other's presence, like some fine delicious poison courses through them both, clouding their judgment and eliminating anything and everything that isn't them. 

It's enchanting and rewarding and she can't help but love every second of it. 

They're currently studying for their N.E.W.T.S together, hidden away from everyone else, mostly because Tom seems eager to hoard her away, but also because they seem to be the only two that can keep up with each other. 

She glances up from her book for a second, cocking her head as she observes him scribble endlessly on his parchment. His attention is drawn to his studies but she doesn't miss the way his fingers unconsciously run through her hair every few minutes as if reminding himself that she's there with him. She smiles because, although she has her reservations, this is becoming the perfect pretty picture she now wants for herself, even if she couldn't admit it before. 

  
  


━━━━━━━━━━━

  
  


Tom can't seem to focus on the words in front of him any longer. He resigns himself, deciding that he's spent quite enough time on the Defense Against the Dark Arts, so he lifts his eyes for a moment to stare at the beauty laying face down on his bed. 

He adores the way Rosamaria nibbles her lip whenever she's confused. Her English is impeccable but there are several times she can't remember a particular word or finds that she needs to reread a passage several times to understand it. He never thinks that it detracts from her intelligence, far from it. His witch can speak five different languages and it's a wonder how she manages to sort them all out in her head without the use of magic. 

Her hair is loose around her frame, her natural waves on showcase for him as he gently twirls a strand around his finger. She's the most casual he's ever seen her but he's never thought that it's her dresses that make her enchanting. She looks just as radiant in her tight white blouse- her robes having been discarded the second she stepped into his room- with her Ravenclaw tie hanging loosely around her neck. The ghastly skirt that makes every other girl frumpy fans looks too flattering on her as if her body simply refuses to look anything less than perfect. 

He's become rather fond of his prize.

He especially enjoys their time alone, their naked bodies wrapped around each other- sometimes for hours on end- as he worships her the way she's meant to be worshipped. But in worshipping her, he doesn't dare grant her any mercy. He's ruthless with her, cruel as he makes her beg for release, and he adores the high he gets at seen the mighty fall and submit at his will. He's managed to taint her, to ruin her, to make her as dirty as he is, and treat her as his personal sex slave. But he finds that it has only made him respect her all the more.

 _I know you care about me_. 

But he doesn't want to. He can't. However, his will has just not been strong enough. His mind is always wrapped around her, always thinking about her in one way or another, and it's a weakness to him. However, he doesn't _hate_ it. He calls her his prize, his pet, but he knows it's more than just that. 

He realizes that at times he looks like a blubbering fool trailing after her and answering her beck and call, but he can't help it. He has found that he enjoys doing things to make her happy, to coax out those giggles and smiles that no one else deserves. Whenever she wants something, he always provides it to her, feeling a sense of accomplishment at seeing her chocolate eyes light up.

_I know you care about me._

She had said that and he had scoffed, but sod it all it's right.

There's only one problem with the perfect pretty picture she Saw. There's a gaping hole in her Sight, one that he hopes won't be filled in for quite some time. How will he manage to have her join him in his plans to overtake the Wizarding World? Yes, she wants to rule, but he's sure _this_ isn't what she has in mind. He's trying to fabricate some sort of lie about his true intentions. She openly proclaimed herself as his, but it's too soon to confess it all. 

She's a kind-hearted, compassionate, and loving witch, and his plans are anything but that. 

He notices that she's caught him staring, and with a coy smile, perches herself on her elbows so she can plant a quick kiss on his lips. "What is it, Tom? You look as if you are miles away. Some sort of devious playing brewing in that beautiful mind."

Tom smirks. "Nothing of the sort, darling. I'm just thinking of how lucky I am to have such a prize laying on my bed."

 _Well, it's not a lie_.

She rolls her eyes as she positions herself on her side so she can brush her knuckles against his cheek. "Madelina invited me to her wedding."

"Oh did she?"

 _Ugh._ He knows very well that Madelina has invited her, seeing as that blubbering blonde can't keep her mouth shut about her upcoming nuptials. He resents the fact that he's practically obligated to attend the event, seeing as all his Knights are. The Chapman wedding will be the wedding of the ages and it's the perfect place for him to expand his circle. But that doesn't mean he's looking forward to it in the slightest. 

"I am excited," Rosamaria confesses, giggling as he leans down to kiss her neck. "I have never been to a big fancy wedding before."

Tom laughs as he nibbles her ear. "Are you going to wear one of your pretty dresses?"

"Why is it that every time you call them that, I feel like I am being made fun of?" she questions with a pout, obviously trying to hold back a moan as his hand works its way under her skirt. 

"Clever witch, it's because you are."

"Tom!" she whines, shoving his shoulder in mock upset. 

In a matter of seconds, he has her pinned against the bed and has his hand wrapped around the base of her throat. _Oh, she likes playing with Fiendenfyre_. "Getting feisty?" he teases, using his free hand to shove her skirt over her hips as his fingers trail the already wet cloth between her legs. "Does my good little witch want a fight?"

Her eyes practically roll to the back of her head as his fingers tease her slick opening, inserting one finger, and then another until she's clenching around him. 

"It is not much of a fight if you always win," she moans. Although her tone of voice is decidedly sharp, her eyes betray just how consumed with lust she actually is. 

He nods his head pensively before he brings one of his fingers to rub hard circles against her clit as he bites her lower lip and gives it a stern tug. "Very wise, Ravenclaw." He pumps his fingers roughly, alternating between curling them and rotating them and he drinks up all those beautiful dirty moans. "You know what you have to say, my dirty witch. Say it and I'll let you come."

"T-Tom," she stutters, clawing at his shoulders for dear life as he keeps her on the brink before cruelly slowing down. 

"Always so defiant," he tsks, letting go of her throat so he can roughly palm her breast. "Say it."

He knows he can drag this on for hours. He's spent enough time above her and inside her to know exactly what makes her tick but he is just too impatient to feel her walls clench against his fingers, to hear her beautiful cries, to drink up every ounce of post-orgasmic bliss in her eyes. 

"I-I'm yours!" she screams, crumbling underneath him as he finally lets her succumb to the pleasure he's given her. He watches her eyes grow wide as he retracts his fingers and positions them in front of her mouth. 

"Open up," he commands. She doesn't even hesitate and he smiles as her tongue swirls around his finger before sucking them. "Fuck, one day we'll have to put that pretty little mouth to better use." He leans back and extends his arms out. "Come here."

She eagerly complies, giggling as she crawls her way up to him so she can lay on his chest with her nose buried in his neck. _Bliss_ is what this is for him. All that life can offer. Power beyond anyone's imagination, followers that would do anything for him, immortality, and the most exquisite woman in his arms. 

He gives in to his body's urges and kisses her sweaty forehead as she sighs beside him. "You and I will be staying at Chapman Manor, I'm sure you'll like it. I've visited it once before and was impressed by the sheer craft it must have taken to build. We'll be leaving as soon as the term ends."

"You are not going home first?" she questions, snuggling deeper into his chest as her fingers work to unbutton his shirt. She must notice the way his hands clench into fists and his breathing becomes labored because she pauses her advances and trails her finger across his jaw. "Would you like to talk about it?"

And, surprisingly, he does. He's never had someone he would consider worthy enough for him to confide him, but Rosamaria has always been an exception for him.

"I don't ever want to return to the orphanage I grew up in."

She raises her eyebrows in confusion. "Orphanage? I do not know that word."

He retrieves his wand from his bedside table and chuckles as he presses the tip of it against his throat. " _Orfanato_ ," he explains in her native tongue, finding it adorable that there are still some words she doesn't understand. "Yes, I was raised in an orphanage."

"What about your parents?"

He clenches his fists again, but he forces himself to remain calm, _especially_ in front of her. "I was conceived by a love potion. My mother died during childbirth, and my father rejected me. He threw me in the orphanage the first chance he got."

He has never said those words to anyone. He has never admitted the quiet shame he carries at knowing that his existence was a result of some nefarious potion. Since this is his first time voicing it, he has no idea the reaction it'll garner. For a second, he wonders if a proud beauty like Rosamaria will shudder at his origin, insinuate that since he was conceived unnaturally, that he isn't worthy of her. He finds himself growing angry before she even opens her mouth. Sinister thoughts cloud his head, poisonous things that betray how affectionately he's trying to hold her. 

_She's going to reject me. She's going to cast me aside like everyone else. This disgusting bitch is going to-_

His breath hitches as he feels her fingers smoothing the creases of his forehead. He looks down at her chocolate eyes to see that they are filled with warmth and compassion. There isn't a hint of pity or disgust, and all his malicious and degrading thoughts disappear. He lets out a breathy smile as his confidence renews, cursing himself for ever letting his thoughts get the better of him.

" _Pobrecito_ ," she coos, snuggling into his chest as she squeezes him tight against her. "You should have never been cast aside like that. I can not imagine he realized what a monumental mistake he made. Do you know what happened to your father?"

_I think he realized the mistake as soon as I killed him._

"I don't know," he lies, feeling the shame wash over him. He isn't ashamed of the fact that he killed his father- he thoroughly enjoyed it- but he feels shame about his upbringing, the dirty conditions he was forced to live in as a descendant of Salazar Slytherin. "I try not to give the man that tossed me aside like trash too much thought.

His perceptive witch seems to sense his indignation and the hidden insecurities he tries so hard to hide. She turns in his arms so she's partially leaning over him, her forehead dropping against his. "Tom Marvolo Riddle. You are far from trash. You are one of the greatest wizards who has ever lived, or at least that what everyone else thinks."

"And you? What do you think of me?" He holds his breath as he awaits her response. He sees a flash of surprise, and a glimmer of realization, but of what he doesn't know. 

"What do I think?" she laughs, biting her bottom lip playfully. "So my opinion counts?" When he nods his head, she switches her position so that she can sit on his lap with her arms around his neck and her fingers scratching the back of the scalp. "I think you are terribly arrogant, cruel when you should not be, but overall you are a good man."

The words trigger something in him. _A good man?_ Who has ever described him like that? He thought that she would say he was powerful, strong, daunting, but her choice of words speak more than that. 

"Do you really think that?" he questions, his voice is too soft and too vulnerable as she leans down and brushes her nose against his, that lovely honey wafting up and around him as she giggles. 

"Well, you are good to me," she whispers, gliding her tongue against his bottom lip, teasing him for an entrance he's just not ready to give. 

He smiles at her and it's pure and innocent and nothing like him. He pushes aside the reminder that, in the broader picture, she is nothing but a meaningless blip in his overall plan. He forgets that all he truly wants from her is her Sight. He raises his hands so he can cup her cheeks and brush his thumbs against her jaw. He kisses her chin, her nose, her forehead, both of her eyelids before nipping at her lips. 

"Just you, my darling," he whispers against her lips as he tugs her closer so she can feel his rapid heartbeat. "This is just for you."

 _I know you care about_ _me_.

These words float in his head as their lips connect, deliciously slow and sweetly innocent. These words cloud his better judgment as he pushes her down on the bed, trailing the tips of his fingers from her neck down to her waist down to her legs. These words haunt him as he laughs into her neck when she reminds him that they need to study unless he wants her to beat his N.E.W.T.S scores. These words completely disappear as he pulls her to sit against his chest, wrapping his arms around her waist and plopping his chin down on her head so they can both read from the same Potions book.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks, laughing with her, smiling with her, reading with her. _I'm truly and royally fucked._

  
  



	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smutty smut warning ...

_TOM JUST WANTS HER TO SHUT UP_. That's the only thing he wants. If there was a way to politely _s_ _ilencio_ Madelina Chapman without receiving a glare from his witch who's sitting prettily across from her, he would. Madelina yaps away and away about her wedding- the color scheme, the food, the first song- and Tom wants to gag. It's terribly annoying to him, all of these stupid details. He groans every few minutes, pinching the bridge of his nose while trying his hardest to curve his tongue. There's a Bat Bogey Hex somewhere on the tip of his tongue, but before he can even think of casting it, he looks up.

He sees the way Rosamaria smiles at the girl, her pretty pink lips animated as she suggests Madelina use hellebores instead of poinsettias for her bridal bouquet. Her chocolate eyes sparkle when Madelina tells her it's a brilliant idea. His witch is beaming with pride at her helpfulness, filled to the brim with giddy school-girl excitement when Madelina opens a page of her enchanted scrapbook so they can gush over her wedding dress. In between feats of giggles, Rosamaria looks up at catches his stare. Her thick eyebrows furrow when she takes in the scowl he more than likely sports, and she shakes her head at him playfully. 

He sighs begrudgingly- if his witch is happy that's all that matters. 

On the other side of the table, the boys are talking about their respective dates for the wedding, and most of them are so obvious that Tom doesn't understand the need to converse about it. Everyone will be going with their betrothed: Abraxas and Astera; Orion and Walburga; Cygnus and Druella; Rykin, Rolin, _and_ some daft foreign French witch. The only people that don't have dates are Cantankerous and Declan which is rather obvious as well. Declan has the looks of a troll and Cantankerous, despite his abundant wealth, is the most chaotic git he's ever met. If either of them bothered to give a rat's ass about their appearance and decorum, Tom would have no doubt they'd have a line of witches waiting for them. The two boys seem to be arguing vividly about something, and Tom has to strain to block their voices out. 

He only now realizes that he hasn't yet asked Rosamaria to be his date. It seems pointless to ask since it's a given that they're going to be attending it together, but perhaps it's not obvious to anybody else. He hasn't said anything about his relationship with Rosamaria, mostly because it's just common knowledge that the finest things in life are solely reserved for him, and she's no exception. He decides that this would be the proper time to disclose it with all of his Knights surrounding him. He opens his mouth to speak, but an annoyingly familiar voice cuts him off. 

"Um, Rosamaria," Cantankerous says with a cough, blushing furiously as she turns her attention to him. 

She smiles nicely and cocks her head to the side. _"Si?"_

"Um, I was wondering, if maybe...I 'dunno...you might perhaps want to be my date to Mads's wedding?"

Rosamaria looks startled, she blinks repeatedly and she opens her mouth and closes it right away. Madelina, who was in the middle of a bite, opens her mouth and her biscuit drops on her plate. It doesn't take a genius to realize that Rosamaria must have told her about their relationship, or at least hinted at it. Madelina gulps as her eyes dart between him and Rosamaria, knowing that nothing but trouble can come from Cantankerous's rash proposal. 

Rosamaria is blushing and she turns to look at Tom as if she's expecting him to say something, but he doesn't. This would be the perfect time to reveal their relationship, to let everyone know that the most beautiful witch in the castle will be on _his_ arm at the wedding of the century. He's perplexed as to why he's remaining silent, why his fists are clenched on the table, why his back is rigidly straight, and why his jaw just won't _fucking_ open. When he doesn't speak, Rosamaria raises a testing eyebrow and huffs as she turns back to Nott. 

"Can I think about it?" she asks graciously, sending him that sweet smile that always has a way of making men fall to their knees.

"Um, yeah," Nott says happily, more than likely ecstatic that her answer hadn't been a no.

Tom grits his teeth and, under the table and away from prying eyes, his hand latches onto Rosamaria's thigh in a manner that must be painful by the way she hitches her breath. Once the attention has been drawn away from them, he leans down to hiss in her ear. "Follow me."

He stands first, excusing himself from the table, and marches out of the Great Hall. He leans against the pillars a bit away from the entrance and crosses his arms, fuming at the memory of Nott's overtly pleased face. He doesn't know why this is affecting him so much, why he's furious at the thought of Nott thinking he has a shot in hell with her. His rage then becomes directed at her. 

_I will take it into consideration._

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Is there actually a chance that a gem like Rosamaria would ever actually consider going to Madelina's wedding with the dimwitted Nott? He feels the tips of his ears heat up as his stomach begins to churn unpleasantly. He waits for a few more minutes and once Rosamaria is in his sight, he doesn't hesitate to grab her arm and yank her behind the pillar.

"Tom," she says pleasantly as if he just hadn't commanded her out of the dining hall and roughly shoved her against a pillar. "What is it?"

"What is it?" he growls, slamming his hand above her, absolutely seething at her nonchalance. "You'll take it into consideration?"

It seems as though the pieces click and she immediately pouts as she tries to shove him away. "Are you actually upset at what I told Canty?"

"Is that so hard to believe?" he snarls, shaking his head at her. "Am I not enough for you? You're so used making men into fools that you thought you could do the same to me?"

His own insecurities are resurfacing and he tries to push them away. Why is it that the more time he spends with her, the more he _needs_ her assurance and praise and adoration. Why is it, that the second her attentions could have potentially been driven away, he suddenly felt like he needed to compete for her affections? He feels the stinging of embarrassment course through him once more, just like when he told her of his past, and it's disgusting. It's poisonous and hateful and fuels the rage within him. He wants nothing more than to wrap his hand around her neck and-

"Tom, listen to what you are saying! When he asked me to be his date, you stayed silent! I have been starting to wonder if there was a reason why you have not told your friends about us."

The realization hits him, and it hits him hard. His rage takes a back burner as he looks down at her flushed face. Her smooth cheeks are tinged red and her eyes can't seem to meet his. He had been so close to taking all his rage out on her, that he hadn't stopped to really think about what she had said to Nott. It seems that he's not the only one who shares a certain amount of insecurities. 

"So this is because I haven't asked to be my date at the wedding?" he questions haughtily, all his confidence regained and all his worries dissolved. He lowers his hands to brush his thumb across her jaw. 

She chews on her bottom lip, trying fruitlessly to not melt as his fingers linger on her lips. "Perhaps."

Tom snickers as a devilish plan begin to plant seeds in his head. He looks down at her crossed arms, the slight pout to her pretty lips, and her indignation. His hand trails her hips as he uses his body to force her closer to the beam. "I thought it was clear that you were going to accompany me. I don't need you putting silly ideas in Nott's head."

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," her voice is sultry and teasing as her eyes widen. She looks extremely pleased, too pleased, and he doesn't like what this must mean for him. "Are you jealous?"

Tom shakes his head as he rolls his bottom lip into his mouth. _Jealous_? That's rich. "Let's say I've never liked sharing my toys."

"I am a toy?"

"My favorite one."

It's a split second of silence and hostile tension before his lips meet hers in a blinding rage. There is nothing gentle about teeth clashing against teeth, tongues running into each other, and the growl that rumbles in his throat as she arches her body into his. He runs his hands over her covered breasts, squeezing harshly as he grinds his hips against hers. 

There's something so innately _hot_ about pawing at her just outside the Great Hall, where all of Hogwarts is dining. Tom's the Head Boy, the perfect student, and his mind is filled with filthy thoughts that are unseemly for someone like him. But it makes it all the more fun, and it makes him all the hotter. Her little whimpers enter his mouth and it gives him an incredible idea. Her mouth is hot and wet and it's time to put it to good use. 

"Get on your knees," he barks, forcing her down by her shoulders. Her chocolate doe-eyes look back at him, positively scandalized, but she follows his instructions regardless. 

"Tom?"

Tom laughs as he tugs at her bottom lip with his thumb. "This is what happens when you test my patience."

She narrows her eyes at him. "Seriously?"

"You heard me," he says with a shrug. "Now open that pretty little mouth of yours."

She's still in shock, and there's a little bit of terror in her eyes, but she obeys nonetheless. Her mouth takes in his thumb and she uses swirls her tongue around the tip of his finger, sucking gently as she continues to stare at him. He uses his free hand to quickly undo his belt and push his pants far enough down to release himself. She lets go of his finger with a _pop_ but before she can say anything, he shoves his length into her mouth and all the way to the back of her throat. 

She lets out a muffled groan around him, not at all prepared for his length and for the sudden intrusion as he digs his fingers in her hair and begins bobbing her head. Her hands immediately shoot up to his thighs, not to push him away, but to secure herself to _something_. He can't help but stare at her, mouth full of him, choking on his length, tears escaping those pretty eyes as she lets him fuck her face, and he loves it. More importantly, so does _she_. Although her eyes are wide and watery, her tongue is working miracles on him and he throws his head back with a satisfied groan. "Fuck...I've been thinking about having that mouth wrapped around my cock all week."

Who would think that the perfect Rosamaria Adeladia Marquez would be on her knees sucking him off like a trollop?

He feels his muscles tightening and he starts to see stars when she does something akin to a swallow, and he can't take it anymore. He pulls her up, quickly wipes the saliva off her chin, and hoists her against the wall. It takes him seconds to bunch her skirt around her waist, push her underwear to the side, and plunge into her wet heat that's already primed and ready for him. 

"Oh, Salazar," he moans, his hands latched on her ass, sliding her down the length of him. "Do you like this?"

Her head bangs against the pillar with every thrust and her hands clamp around it to keep her grounded. She lets out these adorable little whimpers as she nods her head. _"Si."_

"Now why don't I believe you?" he teases, slowing his movements, bringing himself all the way out and teasing her with his tip. "You were so eager to be Nott's date a few minutes ago."

She shakes her head as she tries to force him back into her. One hand lets go of the pillar in order to tangle in his hair and pull his face down to hers. "Fuck Nott."

Those are all the words of encouragement he needs. He sheaths himself inside of her in one thrust, holding himself there before repeating the move again. He uses his strength to hoist her legs over his shoulders, an awkward move that makes something in his back twinge, but the feel of this new angle makes the pain fade away. His mouth finds hers yet again and it's hungry and rough and utterly carnal. When he risks it and smacks his hand against her arse, she bites down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. 

He lets it mix in with their kiss and the feral side of him loves that she's accepting his blood, licking it off his lip, trying to soothe the injury she caused. Her legs are quivering over his shoulders as he returns the favor and bites down on her neck, leaving a red print and drawing a bit of blood from the wound. He doesn't hesitate in kissing her again and letting her taste it, consume it, and all he can sense is copper and honey. 

"Who do you belong to, Rosamaria?" he growls, pulling her slightly off the wall so he can ram into her at an ungodly pace. 

Her cheeks are red and fingers dig into the back of his neck. "You, Tom!"

"That's right," he praises, bringing one of his hands in between her thighs as he feels their connection, every thrust coating his fingers with her juices. "And who does this tight cunt belong to?"

She looks scandalized by his words, but the approval in her eyes can't be hidden. "You!"

"Who do you worship and adore?"

"You... _fuck_...You! Tom!"

And then it's over. Her body convulses around him as she tries to suppress her scream of pleasure- pity he can't hear it- and he fills her up to the brim. Her body slumps against him as he carefully places her on his feet and cradles her in his arms. He kisses her forehead and runs his fingers through her hair, mesmerized by the crazed beat of her heart. "Darling?"

"Uh-huh," she mumbles weakly against his chest. 

"Will you be my date to the Chapman wedding?"

"I thought you would never ask."

They pull back to look at each other, and for some unfathomable reason, they laugh. She laughs as if he just hadn't properly fucked her against the wall, in the middle of broad daylight, just outside of lunch. There's nothing funny about their situation. She had consented, but that didn't change the fact that he had ordered her to suck his cock, fucked her face, fucked _her_ , all while risking their exposure. Tom adores the way she can take pain and humiliation with grace- her approach to everything- because she knows it doesn't make her weak. That's what Tom wanted, to make her weak, but he's pleased that isn't the result. This is another reminder of how special she is, how perfectly they fit together. A sickening thought crosses his mind. 

_Destined to be_.

"Now, would you mind helping me back to lunch?" she asks, rubbing the back of her pained head, oblivious to his painfully pathetic thoughts. "I do not think I can make it two steps all by myself."

He runs his thumb against her cheek and nods his head. He raises his eyebrows, and filled with curiosity, he slips his hand under her skirt. 

"What is it?" she questions, looking down at his hand in confusion. "Round two? You have to give me a minute-"

"Why is it that I love the thought of you walking back into the Great Hall with my cum dripping down your legs?"

She flushes and laughs bashfully as she slaps his chest. "Because you are like a dog. You like to pee on what is yours."

That's exactly what it's like. And when they walk back into the Great Hall with his arm wrapped around her waist, both of their clothes wrinkled, and a fresh bite mark on her slender neck, it is made clear to everyone just who exactly she belongs to. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are once again! Tell me what you think!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another private scene between a skeptical Rosamaria and a weirdly-tender Tom
> 
> Some light smut warning...

_ALL ROSAMARIA CAN SMELL IS WINTER._ She's tucked snuggly in Tom's arms, her head resting on his shoulder as his fingers trace patterns up and down her arm. It sends an alarmingly sensual shiver through her and she writhes against his figure, latching her leg around her hip as she tries to bring their naked bodies closer. 

His back rests against the headboard and he holds a book in his other hand. He briefly looks away from it as his eyes flicker down to her. "Up so soon, darling? I thought I had tired you out?"

"I want you," she whispers, running her tongue along her bottom lip as her fingers dance across his chest. 

Merlin, does she want him. She was a virgin before Tom entered her life and roughly took it away from her. Ever since their first time, she's been so drunk off the pleasure he gives her. She wants it everywhere, anywhere, whenever, and however. Sometimes she thinks that Tom has snuck her some Amorentia by how badly she wants to feel his lips ghosting her lips and his nails digging into her flesh. Tom, to his credit, has been able to keep up exceptionally well with her appetite. It's like neither of them can get enough of the other one, almost as if the acceptance of their destined future has hypnotized them. 

This is why it surprises her when Tom says no. 

"What?" she pouts, sitting up straight so the plush quilt falls to her waist and exposes her bare breasts. "But why?"

Tom clicks his tongue at her as he pinches her bottom lip. "Now, now, darling. Greedy little witches don't get what they want, do they? Besides, no matter how badly I'd like to sink back into that warm cunt, I think you need some time to recover."

 _Merlin, his words,_ she thinks as the blood rushes straight to her cheeks and wetness pools between her thighs. However, when she goes to protest, a sharp sting radiates from her hips. As if to confirm her suspicions, he pulls away the rest of the quilt so they can both look down at her naked form. 

True to his word, she does need some time to recover. She hadn't realized just how rough he was with her, she never does until she sees the proof. There are dark bruises covering her hips in the shape of handprints. Her stomach is littered with similar bruises and bite marks. She can see red rings around her wrists from being tied up, and they hiss when the air kisses them. Her legs ache when she tries to move them, more than likely being due to the various compromising positions he's put her in. 

"So perfect," he chuckles, trailing his finger over every single mark he's left on her. "I think this one's my favorite..." He pushes her forward until she can see her reflection in the mirror across from them, revealing the red marks around her neck. "Or maybe this one." He bites her shoulder hard, solidifying the obvious and red bite mark there. "You're my perfect little witch."

Rosamaria's so flushed by his words, so entranced by the way he seems to worship her battered body, that she doesn't stop to wonder if his enjoyment of her pain should worry her. Instead, she swings her legs over his hips so she can sit on his lap, purring when she feels his hardened length all ready and waiting for her. 

"Please, Tom," she begs, grinding herself on his as her lips drop to his neck. 

Tom hisses as his hands find her arse, kneading the stinging cheeks before stopping her movements altogether. "As much as I would love to, I have things to do today that don't involve fucking you to death."

"It'd be a nice way to die," she giggles, not at all taking him seriously. "What are these plans that are more important than me?"

"That's none of your concern."

Rosamaria's eyebrows shoot up, her lust completely eliminated as she hops off his lap. "Excuse me?"

Tom, being the brilliant mind that he is, immediately senses something is wrong. She can tell by the way his eyes widen with a bit of shock and his cheeks flush that he knows he said something that set her off. Rosamaria, if she weren't fuming, would be delighted at seeing him so cluelessly flustered. 

But then, just as quick as it appeared, his expression changes. His jaw clenches and his nostrils flare. "As I said, what I do with my time is none of your concern."

He reaches for her, but she's already out of the bed. "What if I said I do not like that answer?" she snaps, summoning her golden robe. "You are always doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Do not play the _tonto_ , Tom Marvolo Riddle. You know exactly what I am talking about."

And he does, he has to. They have only been together for a few fleeting weeks, but it's been enough time for her to observe things about him. The obvious one being his distaste for everyone and everything, regardless of how much he tries to hide that fact from her. The ones that have taken her longer to figure out spike some concern. He is always sneaking around. Since unofficially moving into his dorm, she has noticed that sometimes she'll awaken in the middle of the night and he'll be gone. His friends that adore him seem to be less than that. She's observed that they don't just look up to him, it almost seems like they worship him, clinging off his every word and quick to do his bidding. He never joins in during their playful banter or friendly conversation. 

Their passion and happiness haven't blinded her- well, perhaps a bit- so she knows something is going on without her knowledge, but she can't help but think that she should let it go. Yes, she is headstrong, and yes, she is independent, but that doesn't stop the little voice telling her it's nothing. She's not like all those other women she's read about in romance novels, she doesn't want to change him. If she changes him, he wouldn't be the man she's surely falling for. And, besides that, she's Seen the future. She's witnessed firsthand what a wonderful life they'll have. 

They are going to have their own perfect pretty picture no matter what. 

It seems to take him too long to come up with a response to her comment. She sees his hands clenching in and out of fists, and she wonders if he's battling some sort of instinct to strike her, but he doesn't. 

He sighs deeply as he reaches for her once again, and this time his sad little puppy-dog eyes force her to accept his hand. "Darling, it's just a little social club I've started. Nott, Rosier, Black- all of them- we meet every now and they to discuss politics and policy. I didn't mean to keep it from you, it's just strictly men."

"Really?" she deadpans with narrowed eyes. Rosamaria thinks she's relatively good at reading people, but sometimes she just can't tell with Tom. It's never his eyes that give him away, they're normally so full of deception- must be his Slytherin nature- but his lips always let her know when something's amiss. 

It'll be a gentle curve of his upper lip, a stiffening of his lower one; a sneer, a pout, a lazy smile, or what he's doing right now. 

A slight tremble, barely parted, curved vulnerably delicious that lets her know he's being as honest as he can be. 

" _Dale_ ," she huffs, plopping back onto the bed, only to be immediately encased by his strong arms. "You and your little boy's club. I think it is _un poco sexista, pero_ I suppose I believe you."

His smile is devilishly handsome as he presses her back against his chest and slowly draws her hair over one shoulder. "Yes, a little sexist, perhaps," he whispers against her throat, massaging a particular tender part of her shoulder. "But us men need a way to escape all your feminine wiles." He nips at her earlobe. "You, in particular, are very distracting." 

"Am I now?" she teases, moaning when his hands wander lower and begin to knead her back. "Oh, that is nice."

He chuckles in her ear and it's a familiar one. It's the one he lets out when he's ravaging her senseless, and the one she heard as he examined her bruised body. She smiles because it lets her know that he enjoys this- the little, tender, loving things- as much as he enjoys that. 

"What do you want, my little witch?" 

"Mmm?" She barely hears his question. Honestly, it's rather hard to think straight while he presses his thumbs to the knot on her lower back. " _Qué_?"

"It is a simple question." He walks his fingers up to her shoulders, torturously slipping a hand beneath the fabric to tap her collarbone. "You always have such a difficult time answering the simplest questions."

"Maybe it is because you have asked me this question before?"

"Yes, yes, and you said happiness. I remember mocking you for that. Your happiness is important, but there's so much more."

She's about to open her mouth a respond with something snarky, or sincere, or maybe both, but her words are immediately caught in her throat when she feels his hand snake down her robe and between her thighs. 

_Fuck_ , she thinks, biting back the traitorous moan that she knows Tom wants to hear. _How can anyone focus when he’s doing that?_

━━━━━━━━━━━

Tom smirks to himself, Rosamaria is trying to suppress the moan that wants to escape her pretty pink lips. He had asked her a serious question with an answer he’s dying to hear, and that is exactly what he’s going to get. He doesn’t know if she understands his sudden interest in rubbing teasing circles around her clit, tracing her opening with a feather touch. Whenever she’s caught in pleasure- moments away from her blinding orgasms- she’s always so honest. 

And that’s what he wants, an honest response. He knows the frivolous things she likes, he knows how much she values chivalry and kindness. Salazar, in another life she could have been a fucking Hufflepuff. However, despite her disgustingly sweet nature, there’s more lying beneath the surface of her sweet smiles and gentle words. If they really are what she claims them to be- destined- there has to be more. 

“Darling,” he whispers in her ear, slipping one finger in her slick heat. “I asked you a question.”

“Huh?” She lets out a delicious moan as he adds another finger. “Um...I want... _así mismo_...power, I suppose? _Coño de la madre_.”

If Tom thinks her voice is beautiful regardless, her Spanish dirty talk makes his cock dangerously harder. 

“Power? I've heard that one before,” he teases, easing his fingers out as he hushes her disappointed whimpers. “Now, what would my sweet witch do with that?”

Her eyes narrow at him adorably, she’s more than likely put off as he pushes her forward by her shoulders, making sure that she’s lying flat on her stomach. She huffs as she crosses her arms and lays her head on her hands. 

“Well,” she continues. “I would rule as my father taught me to. Look over others with kindness and respect. Build a community where everyone is equal and taken care of. Why are we doing this?”

Tom rolls his eyes because he can’t see her. Despite his outward disgust, he can’t help but feel warm and fuzzy as she talks about her future plans. It’s so endearing, seeing such a precious prize want to dedicate her life to helping those far below her. He's overcome with a sudden sting of adoration as he pulls back her robe so her exquisite arse is on display for him. 

“I can give you that,” he whispers, ignoring her question and positioning himself on his knees, smiling wickedly because she has no idea what’s coming. “I can give you everything.”

“Can you know?" She snorts, oblivious to his hungry eyes lusting after her arse. "And how exactly are you going to do that?"

“By whatever means necessary.” 

And she laughs as if dismissing that statement. She laughs as if believing those words are merely pillow talk while he palms her silky tan skin. But the thing is, they’re not just words, they’re the truth. He wants to give her everything. He wants to please her. He wants to do whatever it takes to keep that smile on her lips, that light in her eyes, and that passion in her body. 

He dives down without a second thought, using his hands to lift her hips so that he can lick a straight line up her center. She quivers at the contact, and the groan that escapes her gives him the confidence to lap at her entrance with increased fever. He can feel the trembling of her legs and spots the way her hands claw at the bedding beneath her. 

“ _Tom..._ ” 

And her moan is everything. Her moan is his reward for being someone entirely different for her, a reward for pushing her to her limits both physically and emotionally. He writes his name with his tongue, marking her delicate womanly lips, insisting that she’s his and only his. He's never done this to a woman before, something so degrading in his opinion, but she brings this side of him out. 

“Darling,” he murmurs against her clit, reaching forward to insert one slender finger in her opening. “What else do you want?”

She whimpers as he begins a steady rhythm, pumping in and out as his tongue focuses on her swollen clit. “ _Que_?”

“Tell me some frivolous things-” _things I can shower you with_ “-silly things-” _things that you can fill your home with_ “-superficial things-” _things that will remind you of me every time you look at them._

“D-dresses,” she squeals as he adds another finger and picks up his pace. “Jewels...Tom, your mouth…”

“Yes, I'm very aware you want my mouth. Tell me more,” he urges, snaking one hand up to part her cheeks. “Give me more.”

 _No, not just more_ he thinks. _Give me everything._

“W-wine...money...um-” Her voice cuts out again, turning into a strangled moan as he curls his fingers.

He looks up for a moment, removing his mouth from her center, looking at her flushed face. Her head is reeled back but he can still see the way she bites her bottom lip and her eyes flutter shut. He uses one hand and reaches up to entwine their fingers and this causes her eyes to snap open.

In this quiet moment of unusual intimacy, he leans down to kiss her nub gently, still maintaining eye contact with her. "I'll give you everything."

"Tom-" but whatever she is going to say gets caught in her throat as his thumb circles her puckered hole, another finger slips in her slit, and his teeth down clamp around her clit.

She shatters, she shatters and he can taste every ounce of it. It’s sweet- just like honey- and he’s so greedy as he licks her clean. He crawls on top of her, brushes away her sweat matted hair so he can trail butterfly kisses up her neck. She turns her head so he can see the pink tinting her tan cheeks and her glossy eyes. 

_Merlin, I did that._

“You look extremely pleased,” she teases, straining herself so she can flip over on her back. 

He shrugs, trying to remind himself that he can’t just fuck her into the mattress as her legs open up for him as if on instinct. He has things to do, Knights to meet, plans to create, and she is the best distraction. “I did just reduce a brilliant woman to a sniveling mess.”

She laughs as she breaks their eye contact, a faraway look in her eyes as her fingers rest on the pendant between her breasts. He’s confused. He just made her come, rather violently he adds, and now she looks so torn. 

“Darling,” he whispers, petting her cheek with a cocked head. “What is it? Did you not like it? Was the arse play-”

“N-no!” she stutters, her hands latching onto his shoulders. “No, I mean, that was rather surprising but I have to admit that I enjoyed it.”

“Then what is it?”

Her eyes lock onto his and she bites her bottom lip. She looks so unsure of himself, and that worries him. She’s clever, so _fucking_ clever, and he worries that she’s seen right through him. Of course, she has. His breath trembles as he closes his eyes and clenches his jaw. 

He has been so foolish. He has given her all his affection, demeaned himself to make her happy, paraded around the Great Hall with her like a puppy, ate out her fucking cunt, and this is what his consequence is. Fuck, it had all been a mistake. It-

“Did you mean it?” 

His eyes snap open. Her eyes, they're not threatening or knowing. Her eyes, they’re...tear-filled? Her voice is so meek, so pathetic, but he can’t find it in himself to mock her relentlessly. 

“Did I mean what?” he questions, turning her on her side to face him. 

Her eyes flicker down, for some reason unable to meet his. “You know…”

He’s confused for only a second longer until it clicks.

_I’ll give you everything._

Has she always been so insecure in their... _relationship_? He had seen a glimpse of that insecurity when she believed he didn't want anyone to know they are together. Has she always been plagued by what she Saw when they first met? Did she think he was fooling her? Tricking her? Using her?

Well, she’s a Ravenclaw and it isn’t just a title. At a certain point, she would have been right. Initially, all he wanted her for was to scratch an itch. He wanted to feel what it would be like to dive into her warm cunt. He wanted to claim her Sight for himself. He wanted to take her and break her. But at a certain point, a point he can’t particularly recall, it changed. Those things, they’re no longer true. Perhaps they stopped being true when he found out she had killed before, or when they had sex for the first time, or when he had seen her ridiculous pretty little dresses. 

_Destined to be._

“All of it, darling,” he assures her decidedly, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. “One day, I will give you the entire world.”

She snivels and he wipes her tears away. When did she start crying? Where did his strong, feisty, regal witch go? Why does he hate this so much?

“Why?” she breathes. 

“Because…” he knows what he wants to say and he knows it’s ridiculous, but he says it anyway. “Because you’re mine, and I do anything to treasure what’s mine.”

It happens in an instant. All that worry, sadness, hesitancy fades away. All he’s left with is the brightest smile, a smile that rivals the sun, a smile that melts away winter until flowers bloom. 

_Mine_ , he thinks, matching her smile. _This is all mine._

“If I am yours, does that mean you are mine?”

His breath catches because he should be offended by her question. He doesn't belong to anyone. He is not property to be bought. Unlike her, he is not a prize to be won. He is Tom Marvolo Riddle, the strongest wizard to have ever been born. He’s not like Nott, Malfoy, Rosier, or the Lestranges. He is not a normal man. 

But fuck him if he isn’t hers. 

That’s what prompts him to hover over her and push his hips forward and slide into her cunt. It’s what encourages him to reach up to entwine their hands above her head. It’s what forces him to take her tenderly, sweetly, to protect her beautiful battered body and show her that he can be just as giving as he is taking. 

“My beautiful witch,” he whispers as he rocks against her, rubbing his face against her neck, licking the painful bite he had given her. “My greatest treasure...everything...I want...I’ll give...fuck, my rose….what have you done to me? Everything...everything...all of it, just for you.”

He decides- rather enthusiastically- as he comes, shooting his seed deep within her, keeping them locked together so that none of it can escape, that he is most definitely hers. 

_Destined to be._


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little look into one of our other characters, Cantankerous Nott, and his fascination with a certain Spanish witch. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this little preview into his mind and, don't worry, Rosamaria and Tom are involved in this too.

_ IT HAS BEEN SAID THAT CANTANKEROUS NOTT IS NOT A MAN THAT SHOULD BE GIVEN MUCH CONSIDERATION _ . Despite being one of many pureblooded princes, Cantankerous has always felt slightly out of place in his world. He understands the language, the conventions, and the structure of his society that is filled with privileged purebloods, but sometimes he feels nothing like them. 

For starters, he’s extremely _fucking_ awkward. 

It’s a sad reality that he can’t make it more than four words into any sentence before tripping over his tongue. In uncomfortable situations, he has the habit of clamping his hands over his ears while whispering dirty Hufflepuff jokes. Sometimes, when things get a bit too tense, his irritable bowel acts up and he has to suffer through another one of Madelina’s rants about his sugar intake. 

He’s always slightly disheveled too. Being a Nott, Cantankerous has the daunting ancient looks of his ancestors: pitch-black hair, straight regal nose, and icy blue eyes. However, he can never keep his hair in that perfect poof his father sports, most of his socks are mismatched, and one leg on his pants is always longer than the other. He’s used to feeling like the ugliest girl at the prettiest party, the most inferior of the superiors. 

That’s why, when he had met Tom Marvolo Riddle at the age of eleven, he joined him without question. 

Tom looked at him like no one ever had before. Tom had the natural ability to put someone at ease with his lazy smile and easy promises. As children, Tom had an air of wisdom to him that drew Cantankerous straight to him. It didn’t take long for all the other Slytherins to gravitate around Tom’s charisma and charm like some sort of pull. 

As they all grew, maturing both physically and emotionally, Tom’s ingrained leadership surfaced. He agreed with all the other purebloods when it came to their notions of blood supremacy, he had adopted the derogatory terms without a blink of an eye, and they had all begun plotting ways to raise a little hell for the mudbloods and blood-traitors within Hogwart’s safe halls. 

Now, Cantankerous was raised around all that shite, but that’s what it is, shite. Madelina Parkinson, one of his greatest friends, can attest to the fact that he doesn’t have one harmful bone in his body. When all his friends began to revel in the torture and manipulation of dirty mudbloods, he always felt rather lightheaded and queasy. When he had cast his first  _ crucio _ , it hadn’t worked, seeing as though Cantankerous didn’t have the heart to truly ever hurt anyone. 

While Abraxas, Orion, Cygnus, Declan, and the twins all scoffed and mocked him for his silly womanly heart, Tom understood. Tom had held him close, whispered comforting words to him, and reaffirmed his own self-confidence. Cantankerous follows Tom because of all he did and continues to do for him. Tom was the first one to understand him, to sympathize with him, to see him as more than a bumbling idiot. However, at the start of his seventh year, Cantankerous finally thought that he had found someone else who could make him forget just how utterly lonely he is. 

_ Rosamaria Adeladia Marquez _ . 

When he had seen her for the first time, it was like a breath of fresh air. As part of his Prefect duties, he had been patrolling the grounds when he had noticed the caretaker Pringle helping someone out of a carriage.

He can still remember the way her beige paisley dress swooshed around her ankles as she stepped out of the carriage, and the way the light drizzle wet her gathered brown hair. He had only caught a glimpse of her blood-red lips and chocolate eyes but he knew at that moment what a treasure she was. 

A few days later, he had been returning from yet another anxiety-induced trip to the restroom when he spotted her again and _was she glorious_. She was wearing another dress- pink if he recalls correctly- and she was leaning against a pillar in the hallway. There was a hazy easiness to her stance as she stood in front of the open archway. The sun had kissed her tan skin and a brush of wind had blown her hair away from her face. This was the moment when he had first heard her voice. 

Her accent was like a siren’s melody when she asked him if he could help her find the Ravenclaw common room and her eyes lit up with a delighted gleam when he offered to take her on a tour of the castle in the process. They had talked- well she had talked and he had mumbled- for two hours as they walked around the halls in nonsensical circles. After finally arriving at their destination, she had kissed him on both cheeks and finally asked him his name. He remembers the adorable little flip his stomach did when she had trouble pronouncing it. 

For those first few days of fleeting happiness, he had her all to himself. It was the first time anyone had ever given him the genuine time of day. Despite how awkward he was fumbling around his words- and sometimes tumbling into walls- she seemed to have found everything he said positively insightful. Every comment of his was met with praise and intrigue, every little slight he felt was brushed under the rug by her beautiful laugh and reassuring fingers. Rosamaria was his own personal treasure, that is until she met Tom. 

It was almost as if it had happened in slow motion. Rosamaria’s sweet eyes had met Tom’s, and although the emotionless Slytherin would never admit it, Cantankerous had known that at that moment, Tom Marvolo Riddle was a fucking goner. But, by some amazing trick of fate, Rosamaria had fled. Cantankerous couldn’t have been happier at the prospect that his sweet Spanish witch would not fall under Riddle’s trap. 

The weeks had passed after that, and although Riddle had specifically told all his Knights to keep an eye out for her, Cantankerous had thought nothing of it. Rosamaria slowly became their friend, all because of a preppy little blonde Slytherin who couldn’t get enough of her.  He and Rosamaria still spoke, still spent time together wandering the castle halls, talking for what seemed like an eternity, and this had led him to believe that he possibly had a chance with her. 

But then he didn’t. 

He had been foolish asking her to be his date to Mads’s wedding in front of everyone. He had put his heart on the line, requesting her to be at his side...in not so eloquent terms. She hadn’t rejected him, not outright, and that had delighted him. He had held onto the sliver of possibility that perhaps his dreams could come true and that the foreign beauty could potentially see him as anything else but an awkward, unkempt, Slytherin. 

He hadn’t even noticed that she and Tom had left the lunch table, he was too involved with what exactly he would say and do when she said yes, how he would profess his feelings for her, he had been practicing it in his head when they returned. 

All hope had been lost at that moment they sat down across from them. It didn’t take a Ravenclaw to understand what had occurred between Rosamaria and Riddle after they had left. They had both come back with flushed cheeks, messy hair, and bruised lips. There had been a prominent love bite on her slender neck, and Tom’s smug smirk could be seen from the other side of the castle. 

_ Fuck. Me.  _

It’s been a few days since that last encounter, and Cantankerous has made sure to avoid any sight of Rosamaria. He can’t bear to face her and see any evidence of her and Riddle’s time together. He had thought she was brilliant with a traveled mind and abundance of wisdom, but no, she is just like every other woman- a pawn in Riddle’s  _ fucked up _ game. 

He stops in the middle of his Prefect’s duty, shaking his head as he walks down to the Herbology classroom, the spot where he typically likes to hide when he wants a fag and no judgment from his friends. He leans against the stone wall and lights it, letting the smoke linger in his lungs before forcefully pushing it out. With every drag, he tries to rid himself of the thoughts he has for the Spanish witch, the mesmerizing Salazar-given revelation that had landed on his lap. 

“Canty, is that you?”

Well, he  _ could have _ been able to do that was she not standing across from him. 

He curses as he drops his fag on the ground when it burns him. He’s not just shocked by her sudden appearance, but  _ because of _ her appearance. She looks nothing like what she normally does. Normally, she is the picture of perfection and decorum, but tonight she is not. She’s wearing pants- when  _ the fuck _ has she ever worn pants- and her knees are soiled with dirt. The hands that are planted on her hips are also coated with dirt and her normally groomed hair is wrapped in the messiest bun he’s ever seen, being held by only a thin scarf. 

“Um...I was just-”

“Killing yourself, yes?” she reprimands, wagging her finger at him as she moves closer to stub his fag with her booted toe. “What are you doing out here so late?”

He stalls for a moment, never having experienced this mothering side of her until he blinks back. “Me? What are  _ you _ doing out here so late? Curfew was an hour ago!”

“ _ Aye _ , yes, I know, but Professor Kettleburn gave me permission to be out here.” She bites her lip as she digs into her back pocket to produce a neatly written permission slip clearly signed off by both Professor Kettleburn and Headmaster Dippet. “I asked for some time at night to tend to my  _ lantones _ .”

“Your what?”

She shakes her head with a breathy laugh and reaches for his hand, guiding him to follow her. “ _ Lantones _ ! They are a breed of magical fruit that only grows in magical Spain. I happen to have a greed thumb!”

“I think you mean  _ green thumb _ ,” he replies with a chuckle. He tries to ignore the little sparks that tickle his wrist where her fingers wrap around it. “Are you taking me to them?”

She rolls her eyes. “No, Canty. I am taking you to a secluded location where I can ravish you for the rest of the night, maybe light some candles, put on some music-” she’s cut off when he stops in his tracks and his jaw falls open “-of course, I am taking you to them.”

He doesn’t know if she fathoms how difficult it is to not let all his blood run straight to his prick at her insinuation. He swallows audibly and says nothing else as he lets her guide him. Once they’re inside the Herbology classroom, she directs him with a girlish giggle to look at a thin tree with little green fruits hanging off its branches. 

“Here,” she says, plucking one off the tree and handing it to him. “Take a bite. You are the first one to try it! I want to see what you think!”

Cantankerous and his very picky stomach don’t exactly want to try some sort of exotic fruit grown by a seventeen-year-old witch, but he can’t lie to himself and say he wouldn’t jump off the bloody Owlery if she asked him to. 

With a reassuring smile from her, he takes a bite and is immediately accosted with a sweet but spicy taste. It hits him so hard that he begins to cough and Rosamaria’s eyes widen as she gives his back several hard pats. “What the bloody hell is this?” he struggles to say as he catches his breath. 

“Why? You do not like it?” Her eyes, although filled with a little worry, automatically water at the thought. The sight of her disappointment makes him want to hex himself. He tries to recover and take another bite, but she quickly plucks the fruit from his hand before he can. 

“It is like a  _ guayaba _ , but it is mixed with a  _ padr _ _ ó _ _ n  _ pepper.  _ Mierda _ , I thought I had gotten it right this time. Let me see.”

She takes her own bite into the fruit and Cantankerous Nott feels like he can die a happy man. He has to refrain from creaming his pants as he watches her teeth sink into the moist fruit, her plump lips wrapping around the skin, and white creamy juices flowing down her lips to her chin. She lets out an almost orgasmic moan at the taste and her eyes roll to the back of her head. When she pulls back, she goes to lick away the liquid that ran down to her wrist before darting her tongue out to clean her lips. She looks back at him as she wipes away the white juice from her chin. “You are  _ loco _ ! This tastes amazing!”

He chuckles nervously as he subtly tries to adjust his pants. “An acquired taste, yeah?”

“I wanted to give them to Madelina as a wedding present, but now I do not know if she will react the same way you did,” she explains with a pout, glancing over to her tree. “What do you think I should get her instead?”

“Mads will love it,” he assures her, averting his eyes as she takes another sinful bite. He doesn’t think his cock can take another look. “She’s more adventurous when it comes to these types of things.”

She takes a silent moment of contemplation before nodding her head. “You are right. She will appreciate it no matter what, but just to be safe, I will have Tom purchase something from the both of us. Walk me back to the castle?”

He nods enthusiastically, and without any prompting from him, wraps her arm around his as they begin their climb up the hill. Despite being filthy and smelling slightly of dung, she still looks like royalty. 

“Did you end up finding a date for the wedding?” she questions after a lull in the conversation. Cantankerous noticeably tenses, and she purses her lips as she squeezes his arm. “I am sorry, Canty.”

He shakes his head, trying to quell the blush on his cheeks. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry for.”

“Yes, there is,” she insists, forcing them to stop just at the entrance to the main corridor. “When you asked me to the wedding...I should have just said no. I was trying to make a point and I included you in that. For that, I am truly sorry.”

“Hey, there’s nothing to be sorry for,” he says sincerely, chuckling as he rocks back on his heels. “Really, there’s no need. I never stood a chance with a witch like you in the first place.”

She has the decency to blush and avert her eyes at the compliment. There is a moment when he swears he sees her eyes gloss over with a smoky mist and her breathing stops. He’s about to snap her out of it until she straightens herself up, out of breath for some reason as she pushes strands of curly hair away from her face. 

“Sorry, I suddenly felt ill for a second.” She licks her lips in contemplation as they resume their walk, not giving him a moment to question it. “I have a prediction.”

“Do you?” he teases. “Never pegged you for someone into divination.”

She shrugs her shoulders with a knowing look. “Yes, well, we all have our secrets.”

“So, your prediction…”

“Oh, yes. I have a prediction that you will end up with a stunning French witch,” she says, squeezing his arm tenderly. “A witch with beautiful black hair and sparkling green eyes. When she laughs, the corners of her eyes will crinkle and her nose will do this cute wrinkly motion.”

He scoffs. “Did you happen to catch a name in that prediction? Are you sure it wasn’t some alternative universe?”

“Positive,” she insists. “You just have to be patient.”

“You know me. I’m not patient. I’m not particularly a catch-”

“Cantankerous Theodore Nott!” she snaps, shaking him slightly as they stop just in front of the Ravenclaw common room. “You always do that! You have so much to offer! Yes, you might be a tad bit  _ torpe _ sometimes and, yes, sometimes there is a little patch of toothpaste you miss at the corner of your lip, but that is nothing! You are sweet and considerate and anyone would be lucky to have you!”

Rosamaria has made his entire bloody life and she has absolutely no idea. Madelina has tried to tell him multiple times what a catch he is, how much he has to offer, but he’s never given it any consideration. Those words coming from Rosamaria’s precious lips fill him with a sense of completion he’s never felt before, almost as if she has spoken it into truth. 

He’s also hit with a pang of resentment. Riddle walks these halls thinking that he deserves the world, that he doesn’t need to earn the great things in life because his very existence deems them already his. He holds his own superiority as truth, and Cantankerous has always agreed with him until now. 

He doesn’t deserve _her_. No one deserves her. She is gracing _him_ with her presence and he doesn't deserve to lick the very ground she walks on. He tries to picture their relationship for a minute, but all he can conjure up are scenes of Riddle torturing the bloody girl during some weird sexual kinks of him. He doesn't imagine that he's loving or tender or that he can properly express what he feels for her. Truthfully, Cantakerous is sure that he feels _nothing_ for her. He's sure that she's just a conquest that he will become bored with, another toy for him to play with. 

_No_ , he thinks. _Riddle doesn't fucking deserve her._

“Well, I must be going,” Rosmaria finally sighs, trailing her hand down his arm to hold his hand in a friendly gesture. “The end of term is in a few days and I will be collecting my  _ lantones _ Friday morning, maybe I will see you there and you can help me?”

He takes in a deep breath and beams at her, sure that he looks absolutely ridiculous. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”

“Perfect!” she cheers, getting up on her toes to kiss both his cheeks. “Good night, Canty!”

He blushes as he scratches the back of his neck, managing to avoid the urge to place his fingers where her skin had met his. “Yeah, good night.”

She whispers the password to the portrait and enters the common room. Cantankerous stays there for a few minutes, rocking back and forth on his heel like a fool, finally allowing himself to run his fingers across his cheek.  It isn’t the relationship he wants from her, but he’ll take it. 

He’s so consumed in his own teenage giddiness, that he completely misses the looming figure just around the corridor with thick brown hair, clenched fists, and death in his eyes. 

He doesn't realize that he is a dead man _fucking_ walking.   
  



	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: some violence ahead...

_ A LOT OF THINGS CAN BE SAID ABOUT TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE _ . When needed, he holds the patience of a saint, waiting diligently for the best moment to strike. When enraged, he can dish out punishment unseen by the world since the muggle Genghis Khan. He’s like  _ Fiendenfyre _ , one wrong move and the flames will consume anyone in his path. 

Tom also isn’t one to enjoy torture simply for torture’s sake. He’s not like the Lestranges who get grotesquely hard when they hear the screams of their victims. Tom’s torture always has a purpose.  _ Everything _ he does has a purpose, and that very thought is what has inspired him to teach Cantankerous Nott a very valuable lesson. 

A few days ago, Tom had been finishing his rounds as Head Boy- on his way to see if he could convince his Spanish witch who was fiddling away in the Herbology classroom like a peasant for a little late night fuck- when he had spotted a sight that made his blood curl. 

He saw his witch- covered in dirt and sweat stains but nonetheless beautiful- kissing the cheeks of one Cantankerous Nott. Normally, Tom would tolerate Rosamaria’s disgusting displays of affection for others. He knows that she is far too matured to ever abandon her culture, but when she pulled away and retreated to her common room, one look at Nott’s face made him see  _ red _ . 

The fool was standing in front of the entrance of Ravenclaw Tower with a dopy little smile and his fingers touching his cheeks. For a split second, he had wondered if that was the same look that he had whenever Rosamaria embraced him. He wondered if he looked  _ that _ idiotic whenever her lips graced his skin. Nott had walked away before Tom could decide whether or not to confront him right there and then, but he had thought better of it and ended up not chasing the man. 

No, Tom Marvolo Riddle would bide his time. 

The Slytherins were all gathered around the table eating dinner the night after with Rosamaria hanging off his arm as they ate their special meal he had requested from the house-elves. He had been in the middle of pouring her some more water when he spotted the look on Nott’s face. He saw the way Nott’s eyes undressed Rosamaria. He saw that lustful hungry look in his eyes as he gazed down at her dinner dress which was on the more revealing side that night. Nott's face held nothing short of adoration. On a hunch, Tom leaned down to kiss Rosamaria’s pretty pink lips, and Nott’s nose had immediately wrinkled in response. 

It was then that Tom could no longer help it. Rosamaria became quickly distracted by whatever Madelina was telling her, and he decided it would do no harm to take a little dip in Nott’s mind. When he did, he found that Nott's mind did not contain that same adoration he had witnessed, but something entirely different. 

It was a blur of filthy thoughts and images. It was  _ Tom’s _ Rosamaria being slammed against the bookshelves in the library while Nott’s desperate and inexperienced hands pulled aside her underwear and exposed her dripping cunt. It was Rosamaria’s pretty pink lips wrapped around Nott's cock, touching herself as she pleasured him. It was Rosamaria’s delicious ass, high in the air while Nott shoved his cock in her virgin hole. 

_ No _ , Tom had thought as he instinctively rested his hands on Rosamaria’s thigh.  _ That won’t do _ . 

Those were fantasies and dreams that can’t be tolerated. Rosamaria belongs to Tom. She is his-

_ And he is hers. _

Tom was ready to strangle him at that very moment, but he had refrained from making a scene in the middle of the Great Hall, in front of the insipid Albus Dumbledore nonetheless. Instead, he had hastily escorted his witch out the hall, away from Nott’s vile thoughts, and to his private room. He can’t recall how long he had fucked her senseless, taking out his aggression on her willing body, marking every inch of her so no other git would ever share in Nott’s sentiments.  After he had gotten that out of his system, he had laid beside her, cradling her to his chest as she slept and he planned. 

Cantankerous Theodore Nott was a dead man walking. 

He had heard their little discussion that night and decided he would wait just outside the Herbology classroom Friday morning, knowing that Nott would more than likely arrive before Rosamaria. 

As always, Tom is right. 

Nott walks as if it’s the happiest day of his life. He’s dressed in his nicest slacks and cleanest button-down blue shirt which still has light ketchup stains despite the fact that he’s a wizard and should be more than capable of s _ courgifying _ it. When he spots Tom, he stops in his tracks, looking around nervously before gulping and continuing his descent. 

“My Lord,” Nott chuckles nervously, fidgeting with his cuffs. “W-what are you doing here?”

Tom shrugs passively, enjoying that he hasn’t even uttered a word yet but Nott is already soiling himself. “Thought I’d take a nice stroll through the grounds before departing later tonight. What are you doing here?”

“Um…” Nott trails off, and Tom can see that he’s thinking very hard about his next words. “I- um- I’m meeting Rosamaria here. She grew some... _ lantones _ \- I think that’s how she pronounced it- and I’m helping her collect them.  _ Lantones  _ are-”

“I am very aware of the exotic fruit my girlfriend is making, thank you very much,” Tom interrupts, raising his hand. He catches himself by surprise. He hadn’t meant to refer to Rosamaria as his  _ girlfriend _ , but he finds now that the word has slipped off his tongue, he rather enjoys it. 

Nott flushes. “Oh, right. Of course, you would know, she is your girlfriend after all…”

“Indeed.”

“My Lord, is there something you need from me?” Nott asks, more than likely feeling the tension seeping of Tom’s pores.

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” Tom suggests, gesturing back to the castle. “I could actually use your help with something.”

“I would love to but-”

“ _ But _ ?”

Nott gulps as if suddenly realizing his words. He can’t possibly be daft enough to think that some sort of fantasy date with Tom’s girlfriend is more important than following his lord’s orders. Lucky for him, Nott agrees sheepishly and follows him back to the castle.  Tom makes the walk quick. He takes the route that Rosamaria is least likely to take on her way down to the Herbology classroom and leads Nott to the Room of Requirement. He paces in front of the door. All the normal things he usually requests aren’t on his mind.

_ I need a place to be alone. _

_ I need a place to make a Horcrux.  _

_ I need a place filled with pretty dresses for my witch.  _

_ I need a place to hold my meetings. _

No, none of those come to mind. The only single thought in his head while he paces in front of the door is-

_ I need a place to teach this man a lesson. _

It takes a few seconds, but a door emerges, and Nott seems hesitant to follow him in. Tom merely smiles at him, gesturing him forward with eagerness and slamming the door behind them shut when he finally enters. 

“So…” Nott says, looking around the room that holds nothing but a single chair, utterly confused with its purpose. “What is it you needed my Lord?”

Tom allows a sinister smile to twitch his lips. “Take a knee, Nott.”

“A...what?”

Tom can’t help himself. He had wanted to play this cool, draw it out, enjoy the sweet smell of bottled-up anxiety, but seeing Nott’s resistance, his hesitancy, makes him snap. 

“ _ Imperio _ !” he shouts, not even bothering to whip out his wand. He hasn’t needed one in ages. “I said  _ take a knee _ .”

Immediately Nott’s knee connects painfully with the floor. Although he’s under the Imperius Curse, and he should only feel a euphoric haze of complacency, Tom can still see the fear in his eyes. He relaxes his shoulders as he sits in the chair opposite a kneeling Nott, rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt. 

“I’m going to remove the curse. When I do, I expect you to stay exactly as you are,” he says simply, giving Nott a few moments to comprehend just what’s about to happen to him before lifting the curse. The change is immediate and drastic, but Nott stays in his position. “Good. Now, tell me, why do you think I brought you here?”

“N-no, my Lord. I don’t-”

“I’m sure you do know,” Tom says, cutting him off with a snap of his fingers. Again, Tom had wanted to draw this out, but he finds that he’d rather constrict Nott’s windpipe, if only for fun. “I’ve been noticing that you have eyes for a particularly witch.”

Tom lifts the spell and Nott gasps for air, clawing at his throat to try and relieve the invisible pressure. “I don’t know what-”

“Enough!” Tom roars, grabbing his wand and aiming it at the floor. “ _ Flagrante _ !”

Nott cries out as the curse hits the floor, causing it to emit a searing heat that will be sure to burn through the man’s pants in seconds. “M-my Lord…”

“I went inside your mind, little Canty,” Tom teases, standing so he can circle around him like a shark. “I went inside your mind and saw all those horrid things you want to do to  _ my _ possession! Do you think I particularly enjoyed watching your imaginary version of her suck your cock? Do you think I liked witnessing your fantasy of fucking her arse?” Nott doesn’t respond, so Tom turns up the heat. “ _ Do you _ ?!”

“No!” Nott cries out in pain, tears escaping his lids. “My Lord, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

Tom laughs wickedly. “Oh but you did, my idiotic follower. You meant every single thought in that puny brain of yours. Somehow, you seem to think that her...talents would be of better use to you. Your little fantasies have her worshipping and adoring you. Should I show you what that  _ really _ looks like?”

Nott’s eyes widen in realization, understanding exactly what Tom is about to do. Tom, without missing a beat, immediately dives into his mind, but instead of just working his way through Nott’s memories, he decides to make his presence known. 

He shows Nott all the things his sweet, innocent Rosamaria has done to him. He shows Nott the way tears escape her eyes as she chokes on his cock. Tom shows Nott the way she cries out his name when he brings her blinding orgasms. Despite wanting those moments to be private, he shows Nott every single dirty thing he’s done to her and what she’s done to him. 

He doesn’t need to imagine the agony Nott is experiencing watching it because he can feel it. He can feel the way Nott’s heart breaks at seeing Tom wrap his hand around Rosamaria’s throat, choking her as he fucks her from behind until she’s nothing but a quivering content mess underneath him. He feels the agony in his gut at seeing her curl up around his figure, giving him little pecks on the chest as she laughs in her post-orgasmic bliss. 

He retreats after a few moments, giving Nott just enough time to let those images sink in before he’s on his feet and holding the man by the collar of his shirt. 

“Here’s the thing, Canty,” Tom says, getting close to his face as his fingers dig into his neck. “Do you want to know what bothered me the most about those thoughts you had?”

Nott has the decency to not speak, and Tom is utterly pleased.  _ This _ is what Nott needs to be like: subservient, docile, and terrified. Nott knows there’s only one option here for him, so he shakes his head. 

“What bothered me the most was that you had the galls to think that I’m the one that doesn’t deserve her. Me? Doesn’t that seem ridiculous to you?”

Nott nods his head. 

“Right? It seemed ridiculous to me too.” Tom releases him and sighs, pacing in front of the man in a sudden rush of emotion. He’s debating something very carefully in his head before he finally decides that he needs to do this. He needs  _ someone _ to know. He places his wand on the seat behind him before returning to Nott. “You seem to think that I’m simply toying with her, using her. Well, at one point, you were right.” He hesitates. “I’m going to be honest with you, Cantankerous. I feel like I can be because I have absolutely no intention of letting you remember this little bit once you leave. Are you ready to hear it?”

Nott gulps audibly. Again, there’s only one option for him. He nods his head and awaits the worse. 

What he hadn’t imagined, however, was that Tom wanted to  _ beat _ him senseless. 

Tom rears his fists back and launches it at Nott’s face. There is a satisfying crunch that bounces across the room. Tom hadn’t planned on demeaning himself like this, of hurting Nott in such a muggle fashion. However, the way his fists connected with the man’s cheek made a surge of power race through him.  _ Physically _ getting out his aggression is something he now has absolutely no qualms about. He continues his strikes, one after another, after another, and after another. While he punches, kicks, and scratches the man, Tom pours his broken heart out. 

“I am well aware that she is the greatest thing to have ever fallen on my lap! Her, that beautiful witch, is mine in every sense of the word!” Another punch. “When she smiles at me,  _ fuck _ , my heart almost fucking leaps out of my chest!!” Another kick. “When I run my hands through her hair, hold her close to my chest, kiss her forehead, I know that I am the luckiest wizard in the fucking universe!”

Tom has to take a break, enough of a break to shake out his bruised hand before continuing. 

“I’ll do anything for her-”  _ punch _ “-everything for her-”  _ kick _ “-she is my treasure, my prize, my perfection and I am hers!”

Nott is choking on his own blood by now, so Tom lets his limp figure drop to the floor. He crouches next to the man, pleased that one of Nott’s eyes is sealed shut. He lifts his chin off the ground with a finger, pressing his nose against his so the man can’t miss a single word. “I plan on living forever, Nott, and she is going to be by my side every step of the way. There is nothing I won’t do to keep her with me, nobody I won’t  _ kill _ to make sure I am guaranteed forever with her. I caution you to remember that the next time your cock gets hard for her and you feel like wanking off. I caution you to remember that  _ this _ will always be your consequence.”

Nott can’t even formulate a reply and Tom can’t be happier. He chuckles to himself as he heals his fists, relishing in the cracked skin and bloody knuckles before he does. He makes sure to carefully remove his shameful confession before casting a few more curses and leaving the Room of Requirement.

He’s almost halfway to the Slytherin common room when he spots the woman of his dreams- dressed in ridiculously plebian clothing- leaning against the open archway that leads down to the Herbology classroom. Her foot is tapping impatiently and she glances down at her watch. He wants to hex himself when he practically jogs up to her side, grabbing her elbow gently. 

She spins around with a wide smile on her face until she notices who has grabbed her, and her face contorts in confusion for just a second before smiling again. “ _ Querido _ ,  _ que haces aqui _ ?”

“English, my witch,” Tom chuckles as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. Although she’s been forcing him to learn Spanish, that doesn’t mean he wants to give in so easily. “I was headed to my common room before I spotted you standing here all by yourself.”

“I am waiting for Canty,” she says, glancing around Tom’s shoulder. “Have you seen him? He was supposed to meet me here so he could help me gather my  _ lantones _ before we leave tonight.”

Tom tries to suppress the growl that wants to escape his throat at the fact that she’s too worried about Nott’s whereabouts to pay him any attention. He composes himself before answering. “No, I haven’t.”

She bites the inside of her cheek as she glances back down at her watch. “Oh…”

Although Tom has taught Nott a very valuable lesson, he can’t help but admit that seeing Rosamaria’s disappointment stings. “Why don’t I go with you, darling? I know I’m not your precious Canty, but I’m sure that I’m respectable company.”

She narrows her eyes at him playfully. “When I asked you to help me yesterday, you told me that the last thing you wanted was to get your hands dirty.”

Tom has to chuckle at the irony. “Yes, well, I’ve changed my mind. And anyway, how can I deny my girlfriend’s request?”

“Girlfriend?” she giggles, a look of disbelief coating her face. “Did you just call me your girlfriend?”

“Well, of course, isn’t that what you are?” he questions, reaching out to tug her against him. “You can’t tell me you don’t like the sound of that.”

She bites her bottom lip before standing on her toes to peck his nose. “No, I can not deny that. Come on,  _ boyfriend _ . I want to gather my  _ lantones _ before meeting with Theodora and Penelope!”

“As you wish, my darling.” He kisses her forehead before he helps her down the steps and they begin their walk. 

He takes a moment to study her. She is absolutely  _ fucking _ wonderful with her curly hair gathered in a messy bun, held by nothing but a paisley scarf. Her tan skin shines against the sun’s rays and illuminates the little flecks of amber in her chocolate eyes. Her lips, shaped in a perfect smile, look adorably overdressed with the red coating on them. 

Cantankerous Theodore Nott truly has no  _ fucking _ idea how much she means to Tom Marvolo Riddle. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...aw? On one hand, we love seeing a vulnerable Tom Riddle, but on the other hand...poor Nott. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been all Tom, Tom, Tom- not that there's anything wrong with that- but maybe it's time for some other characters to make their reappearance. 
> 
> Specifically, two pesky Ravenclaws that let their suspicions about Tom Marvolo Riddle be known. 
> 
> Also, really short chapter, so let's do another update after this.

_ WHILE ROSAMARIA THOROUGHLY ENJOYS TOM RIDDLE'S COMPANY _ , she would be lying if she said that she didn't enjoy some time apart from him as well. 

Whenever she is with him, she is consumed by his very essence; his kisses, his caresses, his words. It's hard for her to think straight when she's wrapped in his arms, blissfully ignorant in her post-orgasmic haze. One side effect of their lovely time together is that she hasn't been able to spend much time with her other friends. Tom is slowly becoming everything and everyone to her, and something about that particular fact scares her. 

So, after he had helped her gather her _lantones_ , she had quickly made herself presentable and found herself at the Three Broomsticks with Theodora and Penelope. Madelina already left for Chapman Manor earlier today or else she would have invited her as well. The bushy-haired girl is the only Slytherin Theodora and Penelope would ever dare to interact with. This, obviously, comes as no surprise to Rosamaria. Although the weeks have passed without much interaction between the girls, Rosamaria seems to keep up with their rapid conversation and juicy gossip. It's all very humorous and light-hearted- _until_ it gets turned on her. 

"You haven't been staying in our dorms lately," Theodora says without so much as a smooth transition. "Are we to assume that means you've been staying with a certain brown-haired Slytherin?"

Rosamaria flushes under both of their inquisitive and scandalized gazes. She knew this was bound to come up eventually. It's not as if Tom is exactly subtle about their relationship. He likes parading her around the Great Hall, through the corridors as if she is some luxurious prize he has managed to capture. Originally, the thought had bothered her greatly- her being nothing more than just a trophy girlfriend- but after a while, she had realized that Tom meant it as the highest compliment. He always seemed proud to have her on his arm, and it wasn't until his confession about his heritage, that she realized why. 

Tom Marvolo Riddle, the man that had come from nothing saw her as the dreams he once held as a child. He wanted to mean something to someone, and having her with him proved that he had found that very person.

"Yes," Rosamaria finally admits, brushing her curls behind her shoulders. "I know it is not exactly proper, but I find that his bed is much more comfortable than the one in our dorm."

Penelope snorts in agreement. "You have that right. I get bloody knots in my back from sleeping on that thing!"

"Very nice diversion," Theodora laughs, narrowing her eyes at Rosamaria. "I was hoping you would offer up just a little bit more information about the two of you. I didn't realize I'd have to yank it out of you."

"There is not much to know."

"Yes, there is!" Penelope almost shouts, lowering her voice when she sees a nearby patron glance over to them. "Yes, there is," she insists, and now in a whisper. "I don't want to put a damper on your relationship, but Tom doesn't exactly seem to be the doting type."

"I'd never imagine he'd have a girlfriend," Theodora agrees, taking a quick sip of her butterbeer. "He's handsome and all but rather scary."

"He is not scary!" Rosamaria counters until she remembers the way Tom stalks through the halls, sneers whenever someone turns their back to him, and glowers at anyone that dares disagree with him. "Okay, fine," she relents with a shake of her head. "Scary is not the right word. Intimidating I could stand for. Regardless, he is sweet to me."

Theodora snorts. "I can't see how. I have a nose for these kinds of things, Rosamaria. He tries to act all sweet and innocent- kissing the professors arses- but there's something about him that doesn't sit quite right with me."

"Oh?" Rosamaria says, genuinely curious. She's only heard testaments of Tom from his friends, so she won't pass up the opportunity to hear more about how people perceive him to be. "In what way?"

"Well for starters, Professor Dumbledore doesn't seem to like him too much."

" _That_ is why you do not like him? Because one professor in the entire castle has some sort of aversion to him?"

"It's not just _any_ professor," Penelope says. "It's Professor _Dumbledore_. Didn't you hear? Over the summer he defeated Gellert Grindelwald."

Rosamaria raises her eyebrows. "So...?"

"He defeated one of the most powerful wizards on the planet. That man is intelligent beyond compare. You don't think there's anything fishy about _why_ he doesn't like Tom?"

Rosamaria shakes her head. She doesn't do it out of blind ignorance, far from that. She has learned from a very young age to not put much stock into the opinions of others. She has also learned not to judge others because of something as silly as trivial gossip. "There are several people that do not like me," she says with a shrug. "That does not mean I am some evil witch."

"Don't his friends bother you, though?" Penelope questions, her eyes wide and glossy with concern. "Those other Slytherins he hangs around with? They're downright cruel. Why would someone...sweet- as you put it- hang around people like them? How can you even stand to be around them?"

Rosamaria has to sigh because Penelope has a point. However, she also has a good rebuttal in place. "From what I have gathered, house loyalty runs deep. Regardless, Madelina and Canty are genuinely kind people. Not all Slytherins are terrible. Tom's particular friends just happen to have been brainwashed into believing all that ridiculous _mierda_."

Theodora smiles. "So you're not at all nervous about spending the entire winter holiday with them?" 

Rosamaria is nervous, but not because of the prospect of spending two weeks trapped with pompous purebloods. 

The weeks have passed so quickly that Rosamaria is almost convinced that she is losing time. It’s the end of the autumn term and is cloaked in homey Christmas decorations, and the halls permanently smell like cinnamon cookies. It should be a joyous season, and she should feel full of the same giddy excitement that her peers have, but she just can’t. 

Her mother and father really  _ loved _ this season. 

It is traditional for Spaniards to celebrate the full extent of Christmas the night before-  _ Nochebuena _ \- and it was a spectacle that no one ever missed. Per tradition, they would attend Midnight Mass, watch as the children took part in  _ piden el aguinaldo _ while following the villagers around as they walked through the street carrying torches, playing guitars, and singing their Christmas tunes. 

Those torches, however, scar her memories now. In the past, she had never thought they would turn those same torches on the family that fed them  _ Nochebuena _ dinner. She shudders, trying to remind herself that there is no use thinking about the past, not when her future has been so clearly mapped out for her. Later this evening, after she finishes her drink with Theodora and Penelope, all her Slytherin friends are set to depart on the Hogwarts Express to Chapman Manor where they will spend their week in luxury as they prepare for Madelina’s upcoming nuptials. It will be a wonderful time watching her best friend- yes, her  _ best friend _ \- walk down the aisle and marry the man of her dreams. All her friends will indulge in the fine wine, the decadent food, and fill the night with glorious memories. She and Tom will dance the night away, embrace as the snow falls around them, and spend their first holiday together. It will be lovely, and she needs to continually remind herself of that fact. 

"No," Rosamaria lies, carefully masking her sadness. "Not at all. I am sure that Tom and I will have a wonderful time. He has made it very clear to his friends that they are to leave their degrading comments to themselves."

"He shouldn't have to."

"Isn't it weird that they listen?"

Theodora and Penelope speak at the same time, and Rosamaria can only focus her attention on the blonde girl's question. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Theodora sighs, more than likely knowing _exactly_ what's going on in Penelope's head. "If you're right, and they have been brainwashed into their beliefs, how can a simple comment from Tom shut them down so quickly?"

"Are you not the one that said people think he is scary?"

"Yes, but-"

"Just because Tom is a natural leader, that makes him suspicious?"

"Well, no, but-"

"So what is it you are trying to say?" Rosamaria snaps with unusual venom, a venom that she isn't used to. "Because I am starting to get a headache! This is the second time you have brought up Tom and you have had nothing but terrible things to say about him. Since when have you two been so quick to judge? I thought you were supposedly better than the Slytherins?"

Both Theodora and Penelope blanch. Rosamaria hopes that it's out of embarrassment for what they said, but she feels as if her tone played a much bigger role in it. She is being overwhelmingly protective of Tom, not liking at all that they have such cruel things to say about such a wonderful man. There is a rage in her that is so utterly unfamiliar. So, she tries to compose herself. She is not normally like this. She is usually able to control her temper, school her features, hide her frustrations, but it feels like they've set a bomb off in her mind. 

"I apologize," she whispers, taking one deep breath. "I do not know what came over me."

Penelope is the first to speak, reaching her hand across the table to grab Rosamaria's. "I'm sorry. We didn't mean to upset you. You have to understand it's just born out of concern. It seems that you've seen a whole other side of him."

"We're Ravenclaws," Theodora adds. "We're clever and intelligent. We notice things no one else does. But, we're not Seers, so we can't be certain."

Rosamaria scoffs internally. 

The _fucking_ irony. 

"I forgive you," she says, smiling at them. She glances down at her watch, realizing how late the day has become. She had told Tom she would meet him at the library at eight since she wants to get some more studying done before leaving. "I must go now. It was wonderful to see you both."

Penelope gets up and kisses both of her cheeks without a second thought- something that Rosamaria has imparted on her- but Theodora is more hesitant. Once she finally reaches Rosamaria, she kisses her cheeks but stops right by her ear before pulling away. 

"Just...be careful."

Rosamaria pulls away first, frowning at the young woman before smiling at her. 

As she makes her way to the castle, the snow kissing her cheeks as the wind whips her hair, those words haunt her. She closes her eyes and takes a moment to simply stop and listen to the cool silence the grounds are offering her. For the first time in her life, she asks for the one thing she's never wanted. 

_Sight_ , she thinks, her fingers twitching under her gloves. _If you have something to tell me. Now is the time._

But, as usual, her fickle power decides to take the back burner and for the first time, she regrets that she Sees _nothing_. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Cantankerous Nott licks his wounds, he makes a colossal mistake and reveals certain things he shouldn't. 
> 
> And Tom Marvolo Riddle is NOT happy.

_ROSAMARIA HAD HOPED_ \- that after leaving Theodora and Penelope and heading to the library- that she would have some quiet moments of peace to simply study and, ironically, shut her mind off. However, all she hears is Theodora's voice telling her to be careful. All she sees is the look of apprehension on Penelope's face, all she remembers is the way Madelina strategically avoided giving her too much information about Tom. 

She throws her book down on the table when she realizes she’s not paying any attention to the numbers etched on the page. She told Tom she would meet him in the library before boarding the Hogwarts Express, but now she wants nothing more than to be near him and bask in the reassurance his presence always radiates. She’s just about to grab her trunk and walk out of the library until a tuft of black hair appears in front of her. 

“Canty! Where were you this morning! You should know, it is not polite for friends to stand each other up!” She says with a playful smile and sweet tone, not at all angry with him about this morning, but that smile falters when she sees her lanky friend. Cantankerous Nott has always been a little rough around the edges when it comes to his appearance, but he looks as if he’s been trampled by a Hippogriff. “ _ Dios mio _ ! Are you okay?”

One of his eyes is sealed shut, an angry bruise and red splotches covering the area where his eye should be, but they widen nonetheless at her presence. "R-Rosamaria...I didn't realize you and Tom were s-still here."

"Canty, we are supposed to board the train together!" she yells, rushing over to him and ushering him back into the library so she can sit him down. She smoothens down his blood matted hair. " _Aye, Dios_! What did you do to yourself?"

He avoids her question as he swats her hands away, trying and failing miserably to stand back up. "Y-you should go. I'm fine, yeah?"

"Absolutely not!" she barks, puzzled as to why he's so resistant to her help. She leans him back on the chair so she can examine his split lip that's still oozing blood. "Oh, Canty. This must hurt so much...there is no way I am leaving you! We must head to the hospital wing right away!"

"N-no!" he objects, his voice hoarse but nonetheless loud. "It's n-nothing!  I- um- took a tumble down the enchanted staircases on my way here. I’m a bit too clumsy for my own good.” He stutters through his sentence, and she can’t fight the sense that he’s lying through his teeth. 

She raises her eyebrows. “ _ Really _ ? A tumble down the staircase did…” she waves her hands in the air “... _ this _ ?”

Canty can’t possibly come up with enough lies to fool her. There’s no way these injuries were earned from the blatant lie he came up with. His robes are ripped up around the edges, his body is quivering as if he’s been standing in the snow all night, and there are several distinct red patches blotching his exposed skin. He's clutching his stomach as if his intestines could spill out any moment and his ankle is bent in a way no ankle should be.  She notices that her probing is making him uncomfortable, so that’s probably why he tries to draw his eyes away from her and stare straight down at the table. Why hadn’t he cleaned himself up? If he truly fell down the stairs, he would have at least straightened himself out first, but no, he  _ chose _ to walk the halls like this. 

“Canty,” she says, falling to her knees in front of him so she can clutch his shaking hands. “Are you truly okay?”

He stares at her hand for only a brief moment, a blush coating his cheeks until he rips it away from her like one would a victim of Dragon Pox. She reels back in shock because he’s never had that kind of reaction to her touch before. It hasn’t fallen on blind eyes that he is fond of her, he basically blushes any time she so much as looks at him. 

“Have I done something?” she questions, tilting her head to the side, feeling a deep sting of rejection. Yes, she is with Tom and yes, she is enamored with him, but Canty has been a wonderful friend all term. Whenever Tom isn’t by her side, he is. He offers to carry her books in between classes, he holds doors open for her whenever they leave the common room, and he never fails to ask her how she slept the night before. 

Canty’s head immediately snaps up and his eyes are filled with unwarranted anxiety. He shakes his head furiously as he desperately clasps her hand. “No, Rosamaria, no...Salazar, you’re- you’re fucking perfect! You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Then why did you pull away?” She can’t help but be curious, she is a Ravenclaw after all. 

“Well, Tom might have said some...things to me about it, and I-” One of his hands shoots up to his mouth as if he has said something he regrets. He chokes back a sob and shakes his head. 

"He said something about me?”

“N-No! The fall...I hit my head...I-”

Rosamaria feels her nostrils flaring as she squeezes his hands way too firmly. “What did he say?”

“He didn't say anything!”

“Canty…”

“Rosamaria, really it’s no big deal-”

“ _ Cantankerous Theodore Nott _ , you tell me right now!”

It must be her tone, or her eyes, or perhaps the way her nails dig into his hands that make his mouth drop open as the frantic words start rushing out. 

“He...he noticed that I, well, that I...and he didn’t-  _ doesn’t  _ \- like it. He wanted to make sure I kept my hands, and um, my...my  _ wandering  _ eyes to myself.” 

Rosamaria releases his hand as she shoots to her feet. “He did  _ what _ ?”

“Don’t be mad at him!” Canty says, following her out of her seat with his hands raised in front of him, limping as he approaches her. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything! I was just shocked after I left and I wandered in here-”

“Wait!” she snaps, raising her hand to halt him. “After you left? What do you mean after you left…?” Suddenly, the truth dawns on her and her hand connects to her open mouth. “You mean to say  _ he _ did this to you?”

Canty can’t say anything to save himself or Tom because she knows the truth and she’s too clever to fall for any of his Slytherin lies. He pales immediately as if he’s expecting another round of hexes to hit him, and this shocks her even more. 

Cantankerous Nott is  _ terrified _ of Tom Marvolo Riddle and now every interaction between Tom and his friends appears to her in a different light. Had he done this before? Had Tom injured or perhaps  _ tortured _ his friends before? 

Those hands that had held her earlier that day left her skin feeling tainted. She gasps, placing both her hands over her heart as she backs away from Canty. Madelina, Theodora, Penelope, even Albus _puto_ Dumbledore had been trying to tell her this all along. Professor Dumbledore hadn't said anything to her, but his suspicions now take on a new meaning. Madelina had skirted around her questions, and Rosamaria found it odd, but she dismissed it. Theodora had blatantly expressed her concern, but she had dismissed it. Penelope had stated her fear, but she had dismissed it.  She dismissed all of it, and why, because her _Sight_ forced her to. The curse- yes, she's decided now, it's a curse- was playing with her. The visions of her and Tom, happy and beautiful, were tricks. The Sight can't be trusted, not in the slightest, and she had forgotten that. 

She had let Tom Marvolo Riddle  _ touch _ her. She had let his mouth devour her most sensitive skin, had let him take her virginity. She had kissed and touched and worshipped his body. 

Does he enjoy the bruises he leaves on her body? Is he sadistic enough to truly  _ enjoy _ the pain in a way that isn’t tied to sexual satisfaction? Has he been lying to her all along?

Worse, has she been lying to herself? 

Her fingers fly to her neck to touch the glamoured bite on her shoulder. She thought it was hot, carnal, the way he always has the urge to mark her as his, but now it is revolting. 

“What else has Tom done, Canty?” she asks, marching up to him and grabbing his shoulders. “Has he hurt anyone else like this? Has he hurt you before? What is Tom doing to you and your friends?”

“My sweet witch, are you in here?”

Rosamaria freezes. The hair on the back of her neck shoots up. Her hands tighten around Canty’s shoulder as if she’s depending on his weakened body to protect her. 

“Darling, what is going on-”

But when she turns, the lazy smile on Tom's handsome face drops. There is a flash of fear in his eyes before a mask of cool indifference replaces it. He looks between Canty’s traumatized figure and her trembling hands, and he clenches his fists before he speaks. 

“Fuck.”

━━━━━━━━━━━

  
  


__

After casting several painful hexes on Nott, brutalizing him with his care hands, and sending a particularly nasty curse that causes his hands to break out with painful but temporary boils whenever his cock gets hard, Tom had left the Room of Requirement heavily satisfied. He doesn't regret a single thing. He had busied himself with trivial things when she went to meet her pathetic friends. He had another meeting with his Knights- in the common room just to let them imagine what had happened to their horny friend- and packed his things. 

He makes his way to the library, to meet his precious witch. He’s running off of leftover adrenaline as he enters the room, wondering if she will let him fuck her against the bookshelves the way Nott had imagined. They sure have more than enough time. 

“My sweet witch,” he coos, turning the corner to her favorite hiding spot nestled in the back of the library. “Are you in here?”

His pleasant mood disappears and he stops short when he sees his witch’s hands resting on Nott’s shoulder, her back to him, and Nott’s face contorted in pure horror. He grinds his teeth together and wills himself to not immediately hex the bloody fool. Tom thought that he had made his point exceedingly clear, but apparently not. He says something else, although the words are lost in his memory as Rosamaria turns around to face him. 

And then, it happens. Her trembling lips, her wide tear-filled eyes, her pale face, they all tell him what has happened. 

“Fuck.”

“Tom!” she barks, her wavering voice undermining the power she wants to convey. “ _You_ did this?”

It might sound like a question but it’s not; it’s an accusation and Tom knows that no amount of cunning lies will fool the clever Spanish witch. His eyes dart to Nott narrowed in deep slits that let the man know that hell will rain down on him as soon as this situation is handled. Nott, finally having one genius thought, doesn’t hesitate and disappears leaving just the two lovers caught in trembling tension. 

“Darling,” he calls out to her with a smile, extending his hand out and hoping his charming smile will melt away some of her anger. “Let me explain-”

“Explain what? How can you explain this?” she yells, heat rushing to her flush cheeks as tears fall from her lids. “ _ You _ did that to him! You are not even denying it!”

Tom feels nervous, insecure, suddenly gripped with a desperate desire to see her smile, to see her adoring eyes. There was a time when he would have loved her tears, loved her grace shattering in front of him, but he doesn’t anymore.  It’s evident that she’s afraid of him,  _ truly _ afraid of him, in a way she wasn’t before. 

He can talk his way out of this, he knows he can. He’s Tom Marvolo  _ fucking _ Riddle and he can do anything. 

“It’s not what you think.” The way his words come out cool and controlled impress even himself. “It was just a little childish pranking. You see, Nott likes to duel, and after a few drinks, he gets a little wand happy. Honestly, it’s no worse than what I did to-”

He realizes too late his mistake. Tom never makes mistakes but he’s just made the biggest one in his life. Those words had just tumbled out of his mouth, the  _ almost _ admission that what he did to Nott was child’s play to what he had done to Rykin the last time he had crossed him. 

Suddenly she’s in front of him, her hands on his chest shoving him backward with too much strength for her thin frame. His back collides with the bookshelf and he’s lost in his shock for a moment. She, however, looks colder than she ever has before. She looks ferocious, even with her tears and even with her sadness, she looks daunting.

“How many of your  _ friends _ have you done this to?” she hisses and her accent is just as beautiful when coated with venom. 

He tries to control his panic, to not let her see just how right she is. “As you know, I am the leader of our little club. Sometimes, when someone falls out of line, it’s essential to-”

_ Why the fuck is he still speaking?! _

She is not fooled, not even for a second. She's got it in her head that he's a monster, that he's the villain in this story, and he knows just how stubborn she is. “Do not give me any of that  _ mierda _ ! Nobody deserves to be hurt! What did Canty possibly do to deserve that treatment?”

“You should see the vile things he thinks about you!” Tom seethes, no longer in control as Nott’s memories flash through his mind. “That savage wants to fuck you until you’re raw. He pictures his cock in your mouth, his-”

She interrupts him again, and he finds that he’s not in the state to be too offended by it. “Tom Marvolo Riddle, look at me.”

“I am looking at you.”

“No, I mean  _ look _ at me!”

He furrows his eyebrows as he takes her in. She’s dressed in one of his favorite dresses. The top of it is rather conservative but there are thick slits down the side that showcase her glowing tan skin. “You look beautiful,” he admits breathlessly, wanting nothing more than to just touch her. 

“Of course I do-” she crudely gestures at her body- “because I am a beautiful woman! Do you think I am stupid? That I do not know what I look like? Of course, Canty is thinking these things about me! Do you know why? Because he is a sex-deprived, seventeen-year-old male, and it is only natural! And since when do you care what other people think?”

He won’t admit it to her, that in the back of his mind, what people think  _ does _ matter. He was raised with nothing, always looked down upon by those inferior to him, and it’s left a rotten stain in his heart. He is constantly worried that he has to prove himself, constantly striving to show just how powerful he is. He goes to speak, but she raises her hand in front of his mouth and her eyes are just  _ begging _ him to try and cross her. 

“I do not know what your silly little boy’s club is, and I did not care to find out before. You say you are a leader?  _ Leaders _ do not do this! They do not rule with pain and threats, no matter how lighthearted you seem to think those things are!”

“And how would you know?” Tom rages, shaking his head at her. “Where exactly are you showcasing your oh-so-great talents?”

She shrieks as she throws her hands in the air. “You _idioto_! I was  _ born _ for this! My father was an incredible ruler, and he did it with kindness and compassion!”

“Yes, and how did that work out for him?”

Again, he’s made another mistake. Her eyes widen, her hands clench, and tears fall freely down her cheeks. Tom has always had a penchant for cruelty, but what he has said has crossed a line, a line that Rosamaria will not be too keen to forgive. 

“How dare you!” She is shoving his chest now. “? _ Cómo te atreves hablar de mi papa en esa manera? No eres ni la mitad del hombre que el era! _ ”

“Darling, please.  _ English _ .”

“I am an idiot!” she screeches, delivering a feeble punch to his chest. “I should have known! Legilimency? At your age? The sneaking around, the way your friends or- more aptly put-  _ followers _ all act around you! Everyone tried to warn me, _everyone_ , and I am an idiot for not listening! I am a fool!”

“You’re overreacting!” He doesn’t want to shout, but he shouts back nonetheless. Without a blink, a wand, or even a word, he quickly casts a Muffling Charm around them. “You’re acting as if I’m some monster!”

She lets out a humorless laugh, manic almost, as she takes a step back. “Y-you are. The first time we met...that vision…” she trails off, furrowing her eyebrows as she looks at her trembling hands. “It was  _ you _ . I knew there was a reason I Saw that when we first met! I tried to reason with myself that you had nothing to do with it! I Saw our future change, but that was still  _ you _ !”

“My witch,” he whispers, taking a tentative step toward her, daring to trail his finger down her cheek. “I think we should talk. Please, allow me the common courtesy to put your mind at ease.”

He can do this. He’s Tom Marvolo Riddle. He can convince her that truths are lies and that lies are the truth. If she doesn’t believe him, he can always talk her down. She's enamored by him, they are connected in an almost supernatural cosmic way. They are forever, united, meant to be-

_ Destined to be _ . 

He was going to tell her...eventually. If she is to be a permanent fixture in his life, he will need to tell her his ultimate plans. Truthfully, this isn’t the ideal way he wished to disclose all the information, but she has to know.  She needs to know his little  _ political boy’s club _ is actually a group of individuals with rigid ideals of blood supremacy. She needs to know that he intends to teach at Hogwarts to mold young minds and steer them in the direction of the Dark Arts. She needs to know that the ring he wears and the diary he carries are guaranteeing his forever. 

The words are on the tip of his tongue, the confession is just a moment away, the burden he carries on his shoulder is almost shared until she opens her mouth. 

“Do not touch me!” she cries, slapping his hand away. She grits her teeth as she jabs his chest with her slender finger. “You will  _ never _ touch me again! You will never be with me again!”

“How can you say that?” he questions, trying to not let his voice crack. “You are mine and I am yours!”

“Listen to me carefully, Tom. How could a monster like you ever be  _ mine _ . I deserve _more_ than someone as cowardly and vile as you.”

Those words slice his heart, break it in two, light it in on fire. Does she not know how much he’s willing to do for her? Does she not understand that after a few months, he’s become attached to her? Does she not realize that he will never lay a malignant hand on her? 

His plans, those grand beautiful plans, they involve her now. They are revolved around her. He will give her everything she’s ever wanted. He will place her on the wonderful pedal she deserves.

But she’s not ready. She’s not ready to be a part of his perfect pretty picture. So, he doesn’t hesitate. 

“ _ Petrificus Totalus _ !” 

Her body stills and her tears freeze, and her mouth is still shaped in a grim snarl. He sighs as he tucks his wand back into his pocket, circling her like a predator. 

“Rosamaria,” he whispers, tsking at her as he steps behind her and runs his fingers through her hair. “You disappoint me. I thought you understood the darkness within me, hell, I thought you embraced it.” He can see her chocolate eyes are darting back and forth trying to reach him. He purses his lips as he wraps his hands around her waist and settles his head on her shoulder. “You have darkness within you too, you know. Unlike you,  _ I _ embrace you for who you are. You are everything I deserve. How do you not realize that you are everything to me? You are the prize that I have earned through my years of humiliation and rejection. And now, after being with me, you are going to reject me too?”

He places a delicate kiss on her cheek as he steps in front of her. He reaches for his wand as he runs his other hand through his hair. “One day, my darling witch, you’ll accept this part of me. These grand plans I have, you play a crucial role in them. Not just because of your Sight, but because you will be seated right beside me when they unfold. Forever.”

Despite the spell, he can see tears rolling down her cheeks. His heart clenches. Her fear, heartbreak, and resentment must be strong if they can break through his hex. He wipes away her tears and presses a kiss to her nose. 

“No tears, my love.” He whispers those words with the utmost tenderness.  _ My love _ . Those words sound unusual slipping from his lips. It stops him in his tracks for a moment, but only a single moment. “ _ Obliviate _ .”

_ I just need _ _time_ , he thinks as he picks up her limp body and settles her on a nearby chair. _I just need more time_. _She just needs more time_. 

And, thankfully, Tom has forever to spare. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo.... what do we think?


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, now that Tom has done the deed, what's our Spanish witch going to remember?

_ HER MIND IS HAZY, A BIT CLOUDY, AS A HAND TENDERLY STROKES HER BACK.  _ Her head is resting on a hard surface and her arms are bent in an awkward, painful angle. She peels her eyes opened and is surprised to see Tom kneeling beside her, watching her with a curious and worried expression. Everything besides his face is blurry, she can't make out where they are or what they're doing. She can see him and only him. 

“Tom?” she says with a hint of sleep in her voice. “W-where...what happened?”

Tom smiles at her as he leans forward and kisses her forehead. “It seems my darling Ravenclaw must have over-exhausted herself in the library. I found you passed out on your Arithmancy book.”

“Here?” It takes her a single second to realize that she is still in the library, her trunks are still resting on the floor, and her Arthimancy book has been discarded at the other end of the table. She winces as she props herself on her elbows and her hand immediately flies to her head. “ _ Dios _ , why do I have such a bad headache.”

Tom laughs as he helps her sit up, taking a seat beside her as he slings his arm around her shoulder and tucks her in his chest. “Anyone would have a headache after reading how Fillier tried to incorporate numerical divination equations with the muggle Euler’s concept of fluid dynamics. It gave me a headache just closing the book.”

“I was rather enjoying that chapter,” she says with a frown, quickly correcting herself because she knows there’s no point in lying to Tom, who suspects she certainly hadn’t been. “ _ Fine _ . I was not paying attention to any of it. I must have driven myself sick thinking about Madelina’s wedding.”

Tom frowns down at her. “I thought you were excited about that wedding. You couldn’t stop blabbering this morning about the nonexistent difference between natural calico and barely white.”

“There is a difference!” she laughs with a half-hearted slap to his chest. “And I am excited about it. It is just a difficult time of year. Of course, she had to have her  _ maldito _ wedding on Christmas.”

The words that come out of her mouth are not lies. There is more to it than she's telling him, and she hopes he doesn't notice. While the Christmas holiday is _one_ of the reasons she's been agonizing over the wedding, it's not the _only_ one. Those words that Penelope and Theodora had spoken to her are still spinning around in her head. 

_ Just...be careful.  _

“I take it’s a sensitive time for you?”

She snaps out of her reverie and sighs, leaning into his touch and allowing it to comfort her in ways she doesn’t understand. Tom, while rather volatile with his mood swings, always makes her feel safe. “Yes, it is. This is my first Christmas...without them.”

She can’t see Tom’s face but she can certainly feel the soft kiss he presses to the crown of her head and the way his arms tighten around her. “It must be very difficult. You know I never knew my parents. You can’t miss what you never experienced.”

“I miss home,” she admits, trying to compose herself and will her tears away, remembering her mother’s words.  _ No tears, mi corazon. Do not let anything ruin that beautiful face _ . “I miss the home I will never have again.”

There is a beat of silence before Tom shifts in his seat, hauling her onto his lap so that her legs are draped over him. She chews the inside of her cheek as he stares at her with those bottomless brown eyes, an emotion in them that she hasn’t seen before. She hitches her breath, not understanding why she’s suddenly anticipating something profound. Tom, as always, delivers. 

“I promised you everything, did I not?” She nods. “I meant it, _fuck_ did I mean it. I know I can’t take the place of your family, but you are home. I’m your home.”

Those tears she was trying to control cascade down her cheeks.  _ Home _ . It’s just a word, isn’t it? One syllable, four words, but they carry so much weight. Their relationship, their affair for the ages, has only been going on for a few months. Sometimes it terrifies her how much she cares for him. If she was blatantly ignorant, she could blame it on the Sight; she could blame it on the undeniable future they will have, but it’s more than that. 

_ Home _ . It’s a loaded word. That’s how she feels about Tom. Although he didn’t say it, he doesn’t need to. His chocolate eyes are melting, allowing her to see that they aren’t bottomless, but just that no one has ever dived in deep enough to see the end. They haven’t had the pleasure of seeing how they start of almost black but lighten as you reach his pupils. They haven't seen the fact that he has a small black spot on his left eye, just above his pupil, a freckle. They've only seen those eyes filled with resentment, fakeness, and disdain, but she's seen so much more. 

He’s her home and she’s his. 

She wraps her hands around his neck and brings him down for a bruising kiss, her salty tears mixing with his peppermint breath. That headache that was pounding earlier fades away when he rubs his fingers against her temples. 

She pulls back for a moment, ghosting her lips over his with a quiet smile. “I like how that sounds.”

He gives her a cocky smirk before straightening up, his face suddenly serious. She wants to laugh because she knows he’s forcing it as if he’s punishing a child who did something hilariously wrong. “Now that’s settled, there’s more isn’t there? You know better than to lie to me.”

“Says the person that always- what did you call it-  _ omits the facts _ .” She says this with a roll of her eyes. “Why are you so brilliant? I know you have not been in my mind, but sometimes it feels like you are reading it.”

He chuckles as he fingers a strand of her hair. “I don’t need Legilimency to know what’s going on in that beautiful brain. Believe it or not, I’ve spent enough time learning your every tick.” He entwines their fingers. “I know that when you’re nervous, your hands unconsciously come up so you can bite your nails, but you force them down as soon as you realize what’s happening.” He brings his fingers to her lips. “I know that your lip twitches when Rykin insults Walburga because you secretly enjoy it but are too polite to laugh.” His fingers finally make their way to her forehead. “Just like I know that this little vein on your forehead pulses when you’re anxious.”

_ Mierda _ , she thinks, astounded by his revelation.  _ He really doesn’t need Legilimency.  _

“If I was not so enthralled with you, I might find it creepy that you have stared at me long enough to know these things. I never wanted to bring this up, since they are your friends after all, but their ridiculous notions of blood supremacy bother me. Are you as good as reading other people as you are me?”

He rolls his eyes. “Obviously, although you know I don’t give them the same attention.”

“So, have you noticed it?” she questions, sucking her teeth with disdain at the recollection, Penelope's words pounding in her head. “Whenever I get a high mark in Potions, Cygnus looks at me like I’ve grown an extra head! When I talk about my time in muggle Spain, Walburga looks like she wants to bark! Madelina is more accepting than the rest of them, but she is the one that told them about my blood status. It is infuriating!”

Tom hushes her as he pulls her closer, a disbelieving look in his eyes. “My darling  _ Lady _ Rosamaria, since when have you ever cared about what other people think?”

“Madelina asked me to be her maid of honor…” she trails off, averting her gaze as she stares at her lap. “I was so excited at the prospect of standing beside her at her wedding. I know it has only been five months, but she and I have become so close. But no, my blood is tainted and for some reason, that matters.”

“Darling-”

“No, Tom,” she interjects, shaking her head in frustration. “It is not just that. It is...I have...I have never been treated like this.” The humiliation in her voice must be evident because Tom pushes her away so he can have an unobstructed view of her face. She hates that she feels this way. It's petty and degrading and entirely vain. “I know that sometimes the things I say make me appear vapid, but they are still true. I am royalty. I am kind and fair and clever and powerful. I am used to people looking up at me, adoring me, respecting me. I feel as if I have earned all of that because of the way I treat people and the kind of person I am. It is just disappointing to…”

“To feel as if you’re being treated less than you deserve,” Tom says these words as if he completely understands where she’s coming from, almost as if he’s experienced this exact same feeling before. “I’m a half-blood.”

“ _ Que _ ?” She hates the fact that she lets out an almost disbelieving gasp because she sounds just like Madelina did when she told her she was a half-blood. She quickly corrects herself, schooling her features into something more sympathetic when she sees Tom’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Do they know?”

There’s no more tenderness in his eyes, no more understanding. No, he’s returned to the same cold, calculating stare that she hasn’t missed.  _ Fiendefrye _ , she thinks.  _ I never know when the flames will burst _ . She runs her thumb against his plump lip, trying to see if her touch can coax him out of whatever unfortunately memory he’s trapped in. 

It seems to work because after a moment his lips quirk into a smug grin. “Look at me, my powers are beyond compare, why would they ever question it?”

Her eyebrows furrow, not because of his overwhelming cockiness, but because of what he said. She knows that he has at least passable Legilimency, but she’s never actually seen these so-called  _ insane _ powers. She feels a tug at the back of her skull, a little jolt to a memory she doesn’t quite have. Her stomach fills with an instinctual worry, but she doesn’t know if it’s called for. He notices her questioning stare, and she swears that she sees a hint of unease in his eyes before he pulls her quickly against his chest and kisses her forehead. 

“My darling witch,” he coos in his sweetest voice. It sounds a little unusual, almost forced. “You are a Seer, so much powerful than they are. We are more powerful despite our blood. You and I, Rosamaria, we were made to rule.”

The unease she feels disappears instantly, his voice drawing her into a lovely trance. She sighs against his neck because while other people might be disgustingly ignorant, Tom isn’t. He sees her for exactly what she is, no judgment- well, maybe a little judgment- no ignorance, and no restraint.  He embraces her for everything she is and she suddenly feels silly for caring about anyone else's opinion. She shakes away Penelope's worry and Theodora's words because they're meaningless. She feels silly for letting them bother and torture her. 

“Do I make you happy?”

Her head jolts up as she raises her eyebrows. “ _ Que _ ?”

“What is it with you and not being able to answer simple questions,” he laughs, poking her nose. He brings his wand up to his throat. “ _Estás_ _feliz conmigo_?”

She always finds it incredibly endearing when Tom speaks Spanish to her, although she is hoping that someday he won’t need his wand to do it. She laughs as she strokes his jaw. “ _ Por supuesto, querido _ . Yes, why would you ask such a silly question?”

It's just a quick second, but disbelief clouds her mind. In that quick second, his eyes are filled with adoration. His smile is almost blinding, showing all of his brilliant teeth. There is such a desperate intensity in his stare, his smile, his hands. He bends down so he can kiss her neck, running his hand down her back and tangling it in her hair. “Just curious. I like hearing it.”

“ _ Engreído _ ,” she giggles with a roll of her eyes, pulling his face away from her neck, breathless. “Are you happy with me?”

He nods his head with a sly smile, kissing the corner of her mouth as he cradles her face between his hands. “More than I ever thought I could be.”

Her heart seems to stop. Whenever she thinks she has Tom figured out, he shows yet another elusive side of him. It’s not his hands stroking her cheeks, it’s not his cool chest against hers, it’s not even the way his lips are ghosting her lips. It’s his eyes. 

There’s something entirely unnameable in them. It’s both extremely off-putting and exceedingly heart-warming. 

“Tom Riddle,” she whispers, trying to make it sound like a tease, but it comes out as a nervous chuckle instead. “What is that look on your face?”

Tom doesn’t answer right away. He leans forward, following his finger as he touches her forehead, and runs it down her nose, lips, and neck. “I’ll tell you later,” he whispers, helping her off his lap as he summons their trunks. “If we stay here any longer, we’ll miss the Hogwart’s Express and I know how much you’re  _ dying _ to make it to the Chapman’s on time. 

She rolls her eyes at him, blowing him a kiss as he picks up her trunk as well and leads her out of the room. 

That unsettling feeling, the headache, the disturbance in her long forgotten. 

━━━━━━━━━━━

She’s happy with him, happy. She’s bursting at the seams with joy at their relationship, and that makes Tom’s smile last all the way from the library to their compartment in the Hogwart’s Express.  She had almost ruined all of it- had almost ruined  _ them _ \- with her silly tantrum. But now, after stealing her realization from her, she’s returned to the beautifully happy witch she’s meant to be. She’s his treasure, his perfect prize, and she’s happy. 

And one day, she will be ready to accept him for everything he is. All he needs is a little more time. 

He leads her into their compartment which is already full, save for the two seats reserved for them. The conversation that Nott, Abraxas, and Astera were having immediately ceases as he and Rosamaria take a seat across from them. Nott and Abraxas are looking at him wearily, while Astera remains completely ignorant, staring down at her ghastly engagement ring. 

“Canty!  _ Dios mio _ ! What happened to you?” 

Tom tenses at the distress in Rosamaria’s voice. She leans forward to grab Nott’s hands which are still red and scabbed by Tom’s latest curse. There is a bruise spreading from his chin to his forehead, and one of his eyes is swollen shut. The compartment is filled with tension unnoticed by either of the two women.  With Rosamaria’s focus solely trained on Nott, Tom smiles at his handy work. He stares at Nott, the smug grin still on his face as he raises his eyebrows.

“Um…” Nott starts, pulling his hand away. “It was an accident.”

Good, he thinks. _This time it sounds more convincing. Who knew all he needed were a few Crucios?_

Rosamaria furrows her eyebrows as she tries to reach for his hand again. “What kind of accident did  _ this _ ?”

Her annoying worry for those inferior to her is almost endearing. He’s still staring at Nott, hoping that the moron remembers the more believable cover he told him to use. 

Nott gulps as he manages a crooked smile. “It’s kind of embarrassing. I was trying my hand at inventing my own charms, and one of them went terribly wrong as you can see.”

There is a moment of soul-splitting silence as the words reach Rosamaria’s ear. Nott looks as if he’s about to shit himself, Abraxas is holding his breath and Astera-unremarkable Astera- is still oblivious. Tom's hands clench uncomfortably, his breath baited as he waits. 

“Oh, Canty,” Rosamaria finally laughs, shaking her head at him. “Why did you do something so silly?”

Tom feels the familiar satisfaction of winning course through his body. He chuckles as he leans back and rubs Rosamaria’s thigh, keeping his eyes trained on Nott as he does. The injured Slytherin immediately latches on the intimate and sightly inappropriate touch. He blushes intensely and hisses, his cock more than likely hardening, and his punishment more than likely triggering. 

“It could have been worse,” Tom says, squeezing Rosamaria’s thigh and beaming when Nott audibly gulps. “He must have gotten ahead of himself. He forgot his place.”

“Tom!” Rosamaria yells, noticing his hand has inched further up her leg and slapping it away. “Be nice! Can you not see your poor friend is injured?”

Tom nods his head, feigning sympathy as he throws his arm over her shoulder and practically pulls her on his lap, enjoying pouring salt in Nott’s wound. “Oh, I can clearly see that.”

Rosamaria rolls her eyes at him, but her indignation is half-hearted at best. She immediately begins a conversation with Abraxas and Astera, and her smile is genuine and unflinching when the girl makes a passive-aggressive remark about Rosamaria's blood status. 

_ Oh, my perfect, sweet, pure, beautiful witch,  _ he thinks, admiring her strength and poise as the comment brushes right off her shoulder. He likes to imagine that it was his affection and assurance that makes it so easy for her to ignore the humiliation and indignation she should be feeling. 

While the girls are entrapped in their conversation, he moves his eyes back to Nott. He believes, for a split second, that he sees defiance in the man’s blue eyes, but that is quickly squashed when Abraxas elbows his ribs. 

Tom leans back, smiling at the scene in front of him. His loyal followers, his witch, him, all headed to the wedding of the century. He thinks about how far he’s come from the dingy orphanage he was raised in. And just how far he will go from here. One day, he will guarantee his forever. One day, he will rule over the Wizarding World. One day, he and Rosamaria will have everything he promised. 

So, as he looks down at his pure and ignorant witch, he decides to cup her cheek and tilt her head toward him. He likes that, despite the fact that she's uncomfortable with public displays of attention, she gives in whenever he initiates it. He brushes their noses together, stuck in a tiny world where it's just the two of them. Her sigh is delicious honey as it coats his lips, sticky and sweet and otherworldly. Finally, when neither of them can take the torture anymore, he captures her lips and indulges her in a slow and sensual kiss. 

With their lips pressed together and their bodies centimeters away, he doesn't need to be a Seer to picture their perfect pretty picture. 

All he needs is just a little more time. 

  
  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did we think??


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little pure-blooded fest! Let's see what happens when you put an eagle in a snake pit!

_ “INSUFFERABLE WOMAN, HOW MUCH LONGER ARE YOU GOING TO TAKE?” _

Rosamaria rolls her eyes, not giving Tom’s comment even half a mind. She continues on with her task as her fingers work the strands of her hair into an elegant braid. “It will just be another second,  _ querido _ ,” she teases, making sure to dab on another layer of lipstick. “You should know by now that perfection takes time.”

Tom groans as props his elbows on the bed, shaking his head at her as she stands. All signs of frustration clear from his face as he takes in her half-done appearance. She feels heat rush to her cheeks as he takes her in. She wears nothing but her black lingerie set, a garter, and thigh-high stockings. She tries to stifle her giggle when she thinks she sees a little bit of drool creep out of his lips. 

“Speechless, Tom?” she questions, letting him wrap his hands around the back of her thighs to pull her onto his lap. “It is a rare sight.”

“You are always perfect.” Tom completely misses her little jab at him. His eyes are too busy indulging in her generous cleavage as his hands play with the edge of her stockings. “You should know by now that I adore every single inch of you, even without your useless makeup, crafted hair, and pretty dresses.”

“Mmm,” she hums, leaning in to brush her lips against the column of his throat. "Is it completely vapid of me to love being showered by your compliments?”

“It would be if it wasn't the truth,” he smiles, brushing his fingers against her collarbone. “No matter how ravishing you look just like this, we  _ need _ to go downstairs. Dinner is almost served.”

Despite his words, he fights her a bit when she hops off his lap, making her way to the elegant golden dress hanging on the door. “Have you not heard of being fashionably late?”

“I would have sworn you valued punctuality more than that.”

She shrugs her shoulders as he helps her into her dress, pulling her ties just hard enough to where she can barely breathe. “When you are late, everyone’s eyes are on you. You command any room you walk into. It is a statement.”

“And who told you that brilliant piece of advice.”

“My mother.”

The tender memory causes her heart to clench. Madelina Parkinson’s wedding is supposed to be a gloriously happy event. Her best friend is getting married, all her school companions are with her, and Tom is her perfect escort. However, that doesn’t stop the obvious tears that fall down her cheeks. 

“Ugh,” she growls, trying her best to carefully wipe them away. “And now my makeup is ruined.”

“Hey, hey. Enough of that,” Tom whispers in her ear, wrapping his arms around her waist once he’s finished with her dress. “You look too beautiful to cry.”

She nods her head, grabbing her wand so she can magically fix her makeup. “I know. I just wish she was here to see me, to see all the friends I have made, to see you.”

“Do you think she would have liked me?” Tom questions, his eyebrows furrowed in an uncomfortable arch. “If she knew me, would she have approved?”

His insecurity makes her laugh, not because she enjoys his worry, but because Tom is never more human than when he lets out some vulnerability. She turns around to face him so she can cup his cheeks. “I think  _ mama _ would have liked you. You hold a certain amount of power in your appearance that she would have respected. All future rulers need some degree of regality. As for  _ papa _ …”

“Ah yes,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “Fathers always have a difficult time letting their little girls go, especially when they look like you.”

Rosamaria closes her eyes and imagines how she would have introduced Tom to her parents. He would have been received in their villa, of course, and she would have made sure to diligently train him as to what was expected of him. However, she doubts that she would have too much to teach him. She would have pulled out his fanciest robes with linings that matched her prettiest dress. They would have sat down for dinner and her mother would have questioned him mercilessly about his interests, his future endeavors, and how many children he would want. After dinner, his father would have taken him into the office to discuss their courting over a glass of scotch. When the night would come to a close, her father would have officially announced his pleasure at having Tom pursue her. 

It would have been a lovely evening. 

“Open your eyes.”

She is so lost in her fantasy that she jumps a little when she feels something heavy and cold drape around her neck. She gasps as she takes in what Tom has given her. Hanging beautifully around her neck is an audaciously grand necklace. The necklace has two lines of step-cut emeralds that are framed with sparkling diamonds and dangling from the last step is a pear-shaped emerald. It looks like the thing of magical fairytales. Some mythic, wonderful princess in a faraway land should be wearing this. It should be displayed in the grandest of museums with all the security in the world. 

“T-Tom,” she stutters, testing the weight in her hands. “How did you...Where... _ Dios mío _ ! All of this has to at least-”

“Fifty-eight carats, give or take,” he says with a smug grin, fingering the largest emerald that rests just above her cleavage. “Seventeen emeralds, roughly two hundred mini diamonds. Fifty-eight carats total. Do you like it?”

She throws herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he lifts her off her feet. “Do I like it? I  _ love _ it! This is so beautiful, Tom!”

“Only the best for my sweet witch,” he laughs, setting her down on her feet. “I was being honest when I said I’d lavish you with these pretty things you like so much, no matter how frivolous I find them.”

Rosamaria can’t take her eyes off the stunning piece of jewelry draped around her neck. She knows that she must seem like some shallow woman that can be bought off with jewelry and clothes. She knows that other women might mock her for liking the things she likes, but she truly doesn’t care.  Material things don’t matter to her, not when all is said and done, but that doesn’t mean she has to lie and say that diamonds and emeralds and sapphires don’t hold a special place in her heart. 

“Where did you get this?” she all but cries, squealing as she drowns him in a flurry of kisses. “This is too much!”

“Don’t worry about where it came from and there is no such thing as too much when it comes to you,” he whispers, curling his finger against a loose strand of her hair. He’s looking at her with those doting, tender, adoring eyes that send her heart on a whirlwind. “Tell me.”

She knows what he wants to hear because ever since the day she had first said it, he’s asked to hear those words at least once a day. She licks her lips as she pulls his head down, keeping their mouths just a hairsbreadth apart. 

She has absolutely no problem giving in to his request. 

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” she whispers, punctuating each name with a kiss. “You are mine and I am yours.”

He smirks at her. “Truly?”

She nods her head. “Truly.”

He seems beyond satisfied and, as usual, she feels a jolt of pride at knowing that  _ her _ words gained  _ this _ reaction. He kisses her one last time, full, hungry, and wet before hooking her hand around his elbow. 

“May I escort you down to dinner, my Lady?”

She smiles as she nods her head, looking at her gorgeous boyfriend with his hair perfectly tousled and his teeth sparkling white. “Always.”

━━━━━━━━━━━

All eyes are on them and Tom revels in the spotlight. The party is already in full swing- uptight purebloods with cocktails standing around the dinner table chatting about meaningless things- but all conversations cease the second Tom guides Rosamaria down the stairs.  As predicted, they are all just as entranced with her as he is. He doesn’t blame any of them. She looks like some Greek Goddess in her full golden dress, and all the pureblooded wives practically drool when they spot the treasure around her neck. 

Tom still can’t get over her reaction, it had been even more than he had hoped. She was so pleased with him, so marveled at such an insignificant object, but he won’t dare tell her that he threatened Cornelius Chapman to give it to him instead of his soon-to-be wife. 

“See,” Rosamaria says, leaning over to whisper in his ear as they take the last step. “I told you arriving late has its perks.”

“So you did,” Tom smiles, leading her over to his Knights. Druella and Walburga are wearing ghastly black dresses that would be more appropriate for a funeral than a wedding. Astera’s tight silver dress that awkwardly bunches around her cleavage is an obvious cry for attention. Rykin, Rolin, Cantankerous, and Abraxas are dressed in matching robes as part of the wedding party. 

“Rosamaria,” Abraxas says with a smile, latching Astera off his elbow as he approaches her. “You look lovely.”

She bows her head humbly as she extends her hand to him. For a brief second, his eyes flash to Tom as if seeking permission, which Tom begrudgingly grants. 

_ At least Abraxas has the wits to ask.  _

“You’re late,” Druella snaps, more at Rosamaria than him, but that doesn’t stop the snarl that escapes his lips. Druella, albeit not privy to what he and his followers are up to, should know better than that. 

Before Tom can reply with disgusting venom, Rosamaria answers first and it reminds him that he needs to be on his best behavior. 

“Are we?” Rosamaria laughs, feigning ignorance. “Oh, silly me. I must have lost track of time. You see, I got a little distracted after receiving this.” She brushes her fingers against her necklace. “It is beautiful, right?”

Tom is proud of his beautiful witch. With the utmost grace, she has managed to draw attention to the one piece of jewelry that is the envy of even the ill-fashioned Druella. Rosamaria is sweet, but when provoked, her fangs come out and Tom is always in the mood for a show. 

However, he has more pressing matters. 

“Where is Cornelius?” he questions, looking around at the overwhelmingly crowded room. “I want to give the groom my best wishes.”

Rykin tips his head to the other side of the room where Cornelius is standing in all his regal glory, surrounded by older pure-blooded men. Tom leans down to brush his lips against Rosamaria's head, whispering for her to follow him. Rosamaria, without hesitation, does. She seems more than eager to escape Astera's jealous eyes and Rolin's drooling. 

They head over to the corner where they spot Cornelius Chapman in all his wealthy glory. 

“Ah, Tom,” Cornelius says, extending his large hand to him. “I’m so glad you could make it. Oh, and this must be Rosamaria.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” she replies in her siren-voice that has caught even the engaged man’s fancy. “Madelina has told me so much about you.”

Cornelius nods. “Well, my lovely bride-to-be loves to gossip.” His lips twitch only a fraction as he glances at her chest. “Oh, what a lovely necklace.”

“Thank you!” she gushes, leaning over to squeeze Tom’s bicep. “Tom gave it to me. I positively love it! Perhaps you could give Madelina something like this! I am sure she would just adore it.”

Cornelius licks his lips as his smile quickly fades. “Yes, yes she would.”

“Where is she?” Rosamaria questions, completely unaware of Cornelius’s quiet indignation. 

Cornelius glances around the room before gesturing to the bar where Madelina is standing, and by the look on her face, she's not there to get water.  His beautiful witch leaves with a quick peck to his cheek, and Tom makes the mistake of fucking swooning as he watches her walk away. He turns back to Cornelius with a positively giddy smile, but it disappears as soon as he sees his smug grin. 

“I’ve never seen  _ that _ look on your face,” Cornelius says, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. “You must really like her.”

“No more than I like you.” Tom’s back to being the man his Knights fear and follow. He can’t show any vulnerability, can’t reveal any weakness, and he hates that Rosamaria is starting to become both those things. “She’s a means to an end,  _ just like you _ . Don’t forget that.”

It must be the cold look in his eyes or the timber of his voice because that shit-eating grin falls from Cornelius’s face. “Oh, o-of course, my Lord.” The grand, regal, rich man has now been reduced to nothing but a simpering follower, just as it should be. “I should really thank you once again for attending my wedding.”

Tom doesn’t bother forming a smile. He doesn’t need to. “What kind of leader would I be if I didn’t? Tell me, how are you doing with your current task?”

"Well, as slow as can be imagined. Petitioning for a position in the Wizengamot is no easy feat. It's taking more time than expected..."

Tom growls under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tries to collect himself. All he wants from Cornelius is one simple _fucking_ thing. A position in the Wizegamot, while mostly for appearance's sake, would do him wonders. He sighs deeply, and with a calm smile, claps Cornelius's shoulder. He makes sure to dig his nails into the fine fabric, smiling even further when the man whimpers. 

"This is an important part of my larger plan, _Knight_." He's reducing the proud pure-blood to nothing more than a pawn, disgracing him by treating him as an object. "Do you remember what happened the last time you disappointed me?"

The man's eyes widen, the memory fresh in his mind. A shiver runs down his spine, and Tom relishes in it. Cornelius had taken his torture like a true man, but Tom had continued until the man broke down into nothing more than a sniveling, shit-coated idiot. He holds the man's stare, hoping to convey in his eyes just how much pleasure he gained from that encounter. 

"But enough of that!" Tom cheers, plastering on a fake smile as he snatches a champagne flute from a passing tray. "This is your wedding week! We shouldn't discuss such unsettling manors anymore. These are nice memories you might have to cling on to a later time."

Another threat, another dagger in the heart, another snake hiding in the grass. Cornelius gulps audibly as he tips his head. "O-of course, my Lord. Please...enjoy yourself."

"Oh, I plan on it," Tom replies, running a hand through his slick hair as his eyes catch sight of his witch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should go save my date from your future mother-in-law”

━━━━━━━━━━━

“Madelina,” Rosamaria gushes, giggling as she kisses the blonde’s cheeks. “You look absolutely stunning!”

Madelina gives her a wide toothy smile as she twirls around, showcasing how the dress’s mermaid tail lets out little green sparks as she does. “It’s wonderful! Mother picked it up in Paris. She bought me one white dress for every event this week!”

“Very extravagant,” Rosamaria says with a wink, running her hand down Madelina’s arm. “Cornelius has such a lovely home, thank you for welcoming us here.”

“Of course, of course! There’s nothing- Salazar Slytherin what is  _ that _ ?”

Rosamaria furrows her eyebrows until she realizes that Madelina’s eyes are staring lovingly at her necklace. She goes to smile until a sinister and uncomfortable thought works its way into her head. She can't _believe_ her selfishness. This was Madelina's night- Madelina's _week_ \- and Rosamaria had broken one very important social rule. 

_Never_ take the spotlight away from the guest of honor. 

She can't believe she had forgotten. It is a rule that had been ingrained in her mind since birth. Whenever she had visited the poor residents of her village, she had always made sure to dress in modest rags, showing that she had respect for them and their home. Tom, as usual, has made her forget that very fact. 

“Oh, actually Tom just gave it to me. I should not have worn it, I-”

“Nonsense, dear. Something that beautiful needs  _ every _ occasion to show off.”

Rosamaria goes to apologize to Madelina until she realizes that it wasn't her that spoke. The voice sounded just like Madelina. It was light, airy, and completely angelic, but it had a harsher clip to it. She turns quickly and regards the woman who has just approached them. Beautifully blonde hair that's pin-straight, gorgeous sapphire eyes, and pretty down-turned lips. 

Madelina's mother.

It's unmistakable. If time had been kinder to the woman, she would have looked like Madelina's sister. Although she is beautiful, there are wrinkles around her lips, no doubt gained from years of disapproving sneers. Her eyes, while trying to be kind, have a rigidity that's disconcerting. 

"Hello," Rosamaria says with a smile. She goes to peck the elderly woman's cheek before she thinks better. She curtseys lightly and is pleased to see the woman's approving smile. 

"Enough of that, dear," she insists, taking her hand as she helps her up. "We wouldn't want you to drop that treasure hanging around your neck! Madelina, who is your lovely friend with such exquisite taste?"

Madelina bites her bottom lip before taking a quick shot of her champagne. Her eyes dart to Rosamaria briefly before turning back to her mother, her eyes wide as if approaching a Hippogriff. "Mother, this is my very dear friend, Rosamaria Adelaida Marquez. Remember, I told you about...her?"

The fake kindness in her mother's eyes quickly disappears. She looks like she has been slapped as she takes a noticeable step back from Rosamaria. "Oh..." she sneers, discreetly- but not so discreetly- grabbing Madelina's elbow to put some distance between them. "The half-blooded Ravenclaw girl."

"Yes..." Madelina trails off, her eyes darting to Rosamaria in something akin to an apology. "She's brilliant, mother and so cultured. You should hear all about her travels in magical Spain! It's-"

"Oh, I remember more clearly now," her mother says, eyeing her up and down, her stare settled on the gems around Rosamaria's neck. She's more than likely thinking just how unworthy the girl is to be wearing them. "A foreigner, yes, I see. Truthfully, I prefer France to Spain. I find that the company is...more pleasant. There's not much to see there. Tell me, dear, did your family own much livestock? Such messy business, but you know how your people are."

Rosamaria's blood boils at the hit to her pride. Of course, Madelina's mother would be a racist as well, just another cherry on top of a pureblooded supremacy sundae. Of course, she would assume that every Spaniard is unkempt and savage. She wants nothing more than to lash out, to put her in her place, to echo Tom's sentiments of just how powerful she is, but she shoves them down. 

She knows _exactly_ how to handle this situation. 

“Marigold, is it? Marigold Parkinson?” Rosamaria smiles, feigning deep concentration as she plucks a champagne flute from a passing enchanted tray. “Are those not the puffy yellow flowers? If I remember correctly, they represent grief and despair.”

Marigold’s eyes turn into narrow slights, her nails digging into her daughter's elbow until the poor girl gasps. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the derivative meanings of flowers. I like to spend my time on more useful matters."

“Yes, well, it does not change the fact. Such...ugly little flowers. I remember picking some when I was younger, surrounded by my goats, of course. I held the thing and it shriveled immediately. Weak flowers, I believe.” Rosamaria sighs, throwing Madelina a weak smile, but not at all regretting putting her mother in her place right in front of her. The skin of her neck erupts in goosebumps, and she knows what that means. She turns around just to make sure and smiles when she sees her handsome boyfriend approaching her. She turns back to the two women. “It was a pleasure to meet you, but I believe my escort is waiting for me.” 

Marigold seems infinitely pleased at Rosamaria’s departure as if she’s won a tiny victory over her. However, if Rosamaria has learned anything from Tom and her father, it’s that battles can be lost as long as the war is won. This thought is what makes her stop in her tracks. 

“By the way,” she whispers, stopping just beside Marigold, reaching her hand out to stroke the lady's hand. Marigold shrivels, filled with disgust, and Rosamaria indulges on that. “I have always preferred red roses myself. In case you are in need of a derivative little lesson, they represent perfection. Not to mention the fact that they have thorns. Do you know what thorns do? They draw _blood_.” 

She leaves without another word and a satisfied smirk on her lips, just in time as well, as the house-elves have begun to collect everyone for dinner. She accepts Tom's outstretched hand, and she realizes by the amusement in his brown eyes, that he had heard every single word. 

“Darling,” Tom whispers, leaning down so he can discreetly brush his lips against her ear. “If I had any say in the matter, I think that the Sorting Hat did you a disservice sorting you in Ravenclaw.”

She smiles coyly, smiling as Tom palms the exposed skin of her back. “And why is that?”

“Because your Slytherin is showing.”

Rosamaria laughs alongside him as he leads them to the table, pulling out her chair like the perfect gentleman. As their food is served and the wine is poured, the true meaning of his words never hits her. She's too busy trailing her finger up and down his arm as the desert is presented to them and she and Tom have one too many glasses of wine to realize what is happening to her, to realize what just occurred. 

Rosamaria Adeladia Marquez- the perfectly kind Seer- is relishing her cruelty. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Tom is rubbing off a little too much on our precious Ravenclaw. That can't be good news...right?


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another passive-aggressive insult from Marigold Parkinson. Let's see what happens when Rosamaria tries to break a sexist tradition, and what happens when Tom has an earth-shattering realization.

_ROSAMARIA TAKES A DEEP BREATH IN, LOVING THE SMELL OF THE ENCHANTED FLOWERS HOVERING IN THE AIR_. The sun is beating on her tan cheeks and she feels free. It's a definite contrast to the feeling she had the night before, trapped in an extravagant ballroom surrounded by people who deem her lesser than. 

After properly putting Marigold in her place, Rosamaria had joined Tom and the other purebloods for dinner. It had been rather uneventful. She had eaten peacefully, not at all caring that her Slytherin friends didn't speak to her once. No, after seeing Rosamaria's wonderfully sour reception to Chapman Manor, they more than likely decided it was best to avoid her for the evening, fearing that the scrutiny would turn on them. Rosamaria didn't have the opportunity to talk to Madelina either, seeing as though the bride-to-be had sat all the way at the other end of the table with her fiance.

Instead, Rosamaria had spent the evening watching in awe as Tom dominated the conversation. He had been so suave and cultured: indulging Abraxas's father in a friendly debate on Werewolf Policy, laughing with the elder Nott about irrelevant Quidditch scores, and regaling Marigold with his exemplary table manners. She felt a warmth spread over her in seeing how well he fit in with this world, knowing very well that they would shun him if they ever discovered his blood status. It felt like a little personal victory for herself, seeing him blend in so flawlessly. 

Every now and then during dinner, he had noticed her eyes on him and had given her a quick peck on the forehead or a stroke of the cheek. Sure, his physical affection had turned the purebloods off a bit, but not enough to sit back and ignore him.

The dinner had ended shortly after, and everyone had returned to the private suites that had been provided for them. Tom, however, wanting to be reckless as usual had tugged her into his room where they spent the night laughing over little insults about the people they had just dined with. She had fallen asleep, wrapped in his arms, and the whole unpleasant evening had disappeared.

"The sunlight suits you."

She turns with a smile to Tom, opening up her eyes to look at his handsome face. He says that the sunlight suits her when in reality, it has to suit him more. Under the sun, his dark eyes lighten and she can see every perfect shade. His skin which is so unnaturally pale looks almost translucent. It looks as if the gods are personally shining down on him urging everyone to gaze upon him. 

Looking at him, she wants to tell him about the growing feeling she's had deep in her gut for days now. She wants to confide in him the burning embers in her soul that sprouted the night before they left for Hogwarts. She wants to tell him she's falling in love- deeply, dangerously, desperately. 

"It is a wonderful day," she says instead, brushing her fingers against her dress. 

"It really is, isn't it?"

"Madelina!"

Rosamaria, without any hesitation, throws herself at the figure that has just emerged from behind the bushes. Despite being in close proximity to her, Rosamaria hasn't had the opportunity to talk to her blushing friend in private. Her eyes sparkle with delight as she takes in her friend. "Oh! You look so..." she pauses, gnawing on her bottom lip "...beautiful."

Madelina, being a young woman graced with elegant features, truly is beautiful. However, her appearance looks rather comedic. She has little blotches of dirt on both of her cheeks, and twigs stuck in uneven angles in her hair. Her impeccable white dress is torn at the bottom and one of her shoes is missing.

Madelia burst into laughter, giving Rosamaria a quick curtsey. "Lovely, right?"

The girls giggle in unison and Rosamaria begins to fuss over her hair. "My friend, what exactly happened to you?"

"It's not an interesting story, really," Madelina begins, waving her wand over her dress, trying to fix the various little tears. "It's just that, with mother around, it's been a bit hard to get some alone time with you. There's just so much I want to tell you!"

"Wait, are you telling me that you-"

"-Hid in the bushes until you were alone and my mother was away?"

Tom snorts beside them. "Salazar, the lengths you had to go to-"

"I think it is sweet," Rosamaria says, cutting off Tom with a playful scowl. "I have missed you!"

Madelina reaches out for her hands. "Oh, me too! Where do I start? I saw my dress for the first time yesterday and it is _stunning_! The way it fits makes me feel like a princes! You need to take a look at it! Maybe later we can-"

"Later we can what?"

Rosamaria closes her eyes in irritation as Marigold Parkinson joins them, holding a white umbrella above her head as she frowns distastefully at the Spanish witch. 

"Oh, mother..." Madelina says with a tremble in her voice. "Well, I was just going to see if Rosamaria wanted to see my dress. It's just so pretty-"

"We have plans later," Marigold snaps, dragging her daughter back by her elbow. "Did you forget? You and I are having tea with Cornelius and his parents to finalize the papers. Traditionally, it would just be the men but with your father's passing, it's up to us to negotiate these things for ourselves. It would be nice to have your brother here for it as well, but he won't be getting her until tomorrow. I have reminded you of this several times!"

Madelina has tears brimming her eyes and her cheeks flush, more than likely just remembering this engagement of hers. She hadn't talked about her father much, but Rosamaria knows how much his death had affected her when he passed years ago. Seeing her mother bring it up in such a distasteful way makes Rosamaria wants to hurl. Marigold is using her dead husband's memory as a pawn, as a way of guilting Madelina and reminding her of her place. 

"Of course not, mother," Madelina whispers after a minute, subtly trying to wipe away her tears. "I must have forgotten."

"Let's make sure we don't forget anything else. You might be getting married, but that doesn't mean you're an idiot." Marigold's lips twist in cruel satisfaction as she begins to drag Madelina away. "Off we go, my dear. The festivities are soon to begin."

Rosamaria watches her close friend walk away without even a sliver of eye contact. Her pleasant mood suddenly sours, and Tom must sense this because he stands behind her with a gentle hand on her back. 

"Bitch," he spits under his breath, his fingers digging into her hips. "I'm not one for all this mushy shit, but did she really need to make her cry? It's entirely unnecessary."

Rosamaria bites her lip. She wants to join Tom in his awful banter about Marigold because the terrible woman deserves it, but she shouldn't. Last night, tossing insults back and forth about the rest of the guests, digging her claws into Marigold with just her words, it had been something unlike her. 

“Are you going to tell me what is going on?” she snaps instead as the rest of their friends join them. “I find that I am no longer in the mood for social engagements.”

“Ah, so you've had another encounter with Mads's mother?” Walburga snorts, coming up beside her and adjusting her position as her black umbrella brushes against Druella’s. “Nasty thing, even to me.”

Rosamaria raises her eyebrows. “Really? I think that you would be rather partial to her _nasty_ comments.”

“Oh, relax,” Druella chides, patting Rosamaria’s head. “We don’t find you _that_ disgraceful anymore. You’ve proven yourself worthy of joining our little group.”

“My dream,” Rosamaria whispers with a roll of her eye, tempted to elbow a snickering Tom. 

“She means to say that we like you,” Astera explains, shooting Druella a pointed glare. “It’s sickening really, you’re too nice not to like.”

Rosamaria feels a quick sting of success shoot through her. Although she and Tom have worked through her silly insecurities about the British purebloods, it still feels nice knowing that she has earned the respect she craves so much. Tom seems to sense this too as he brushes his fingers against the back of her exposed neck. 

“Walburga has a point, darling. Marigold is being inappropriately crass, even for her," Tom says, shaking Abraxas's hand as he and the rest of the men join them. "Even though she detests you, it’s bad form to bring these sorts of things up at special events."

"She is not making it very special either," Rosamaria frowns, leaning on Tom's chest. "I feel bad for her, Tom."

Tom scoffs, giving the crown of her head a gentle kiss. "Unsurprising. If it makes you feel better, she has other friends to lend her some support."

Rosamaria's eyes find Madelina yet again, but this time she isn't alone with her mother. Two other figures have joined the blushing bride.

" _Querido_ ," she whispers, tugging on Tom's sleeve to get his attention. "Who is that with Canty?"

She feels him tense under her fingers, and the tension is unusual and ill-placed. She looks up to see that his lips are set in a thin line as he glares at the young Nott, but before he can say anything- if he even is- Druella beats him to it.

"Cossette Beauchamp," she says, eyeing the pretty with obvious jealousy. "Canty's parents couldn't find him a British witch so they had to ship one in from France. Their parents are trying to negotiate an engagement."

"Of course." Rosamaria wants to roll her eyes and argue against the pureblooded need for arranged marriages- again- until the French witch turns around.

Cossette Beauchamp is just what she had Seen.

The witch draped over Canty's arm in beautiful, more beautiful than Canty let himself believe he deserved. Her raven hair is pin-straight and falls all the way down to her waist, covering the exposed back of her yellow dress. Her green eyes sparkle as she looks at Canty, and when he whispers something in her ear, she laughs. Through her laugh, and even from this distance, Rosamaria can see the way the corners of her eyes crinkle and her nose wrinkles in an adorably cute way.

"I knew it," she whispers, smiling up at Tom. 

Tom gives her his gorgeous lop-sided smile as he tunes into her words and his voice drops to a careful whisper. "Out of all the things you could have Seen _that_ is what presented itself to you?"

"Do not be that way," she teases, giving him a light shove. "I have told you many times before. I can not control it. Luckily for Canty, this one came true. Come, _querido_! I want to meet her!"

Rosamaria has already started walking his way when Canty's eyes finally meet her. She's elated to see his smile- full of the pure happiness he deserves- but the happiness quickly disappears from the air. The second he spots her coming his way, his face drops. He tightens his arm around his witch and quickly steers them away from them and to the other side of the garden. Rosamaria is left to stand there like a fool, her mouth wide with shock as her close friend basically brushes her off. 

"Did you see that?" she asks, turning to Tom with her hands on her cocked hips. "He saw us and he walked away. That is rather odd, is it not?"

"He merely doesn't want to intimidate the woman. One look at you and she might run for the hills."

Rosamaria studies his expression. Although his words are meant to be a joke, she senses there's some lingering truth to them that she's not privy to. His smile is too satisfied, his eyes are too delighted, and he looks like a child who just got away with an awful deed. She doesn't understand what makes him so pleased at Canty's avoidance of her. She considers them close friends and she wonders if Tom understands just how much that hurt her. 

Rosamaria Adeladia Marquez is a proud woman. She is not insecure and understands her worth. She knows that she is a loving girlfriend and a loyal friend, so Canty's treatment is absolutely uncalled for. She goes to step away from Tom, fully intent on chasing the younger Nott down until a booming voice stops her in her tracks. 

"Oh, goody!" Astera cheers, clapping her hands as she bounces toward Rosamaria. "It's starting! Come on! Let's get closer for a better look!"

The crowd that is gathered around the garden erupts in a similar fashion, and suddenly she is being pushed forward. Tom, being the perfect gentleman he is, immediately wraps his arms around her waist as he growls at the throng of people trying to push her to the side for a better vantage point. In his protective embrace, he quickly maneuvers them to the very edge of the crowd to stand alongside their friends. 

“Now will you tell me why were are out here?” she questions with a laugh, moving just out of reach from Tom’s roaming hands. 

"Stay here beside me," he snaps, pouting like a child as he pulls her to his hip, slinking his arm around her waist. He doesn't miss the little scowl she throws him, although it's only half-hearted. He rolls his eyes and drops his hand, but remains steady at her side. “This is an old-time wedding tradition for purebloods. It’s an archaic form of Quidditch.”

“The players all get on their brooms and chase an enchanted sparrow. Whoever manages to strike it down first wins,” Abraxas explains, rolling his eyes as Astera desperately tries to lace her fingers through his. 

“Respected guests!” Cornelius’s father booms, adjusting the wand that’s amplifying his voice. He stands in the center of a clear field with a black little box by his feet. “Let the festivities begin! Champions, please step up to the pitch!”

One by one several men step forward with brooms in their hands. Amongst her friends, Abraxas, Cygnus, Orion, and Rykin step forward as well, all looking way too pleased with themselves.

“Champions?” she questions, looking to see that neither Tom, Rolin, or Canty haven’t stepped forward. 

Rolin looks rather put-off as he answers her. “One male guest from each family plays for the honor of their house. I got to play at the last wedding we attended, so it’s Rykin’s time to shine. He’s a shite flyer, though, so I’m sure he’ll find a way to sully the Lestrange name.”

“At least be happy that Cornelius can’t play. The game would be over before it’s even begun,” Druella comments, giving Rosamaria's confusion a sympathetic smile. "Grooms can't participate in this game. There's only to be one man for every family. That's why Canty isn't playing. His brother will take his spot this year."

Rosamaria turns to Tom with a sly smile. “And why are you not playing, _querido_?”

“Seriously?” he sneers, shaking his head in disgust. “What about me makes you think that I’ll reduce myself to play such childish games? Either way, there's no point, is there? Ideally, the bride's family would win since the honor should be there's. There's really no point to playing.”

Rosamaria goes to giggle until she realizes what this entails. She looks over to Madelina to see her staring at her shoes as the male champions gather their brooms. Against her better judgment, she moves toward her friend who seems to be on the brink of tears. Tom tries to make her stay put, but he should know better by now. With a groan, he unwillingly follows her as they make their way to the Parkinsons. Rosamaria ignores Marigold's stare as she plants herself beside her friend. 

“Madelina,” she laughs, trying to lighten the mood by resting her head on her shoulder. “Who is going to be your champion?”

Madelina looks up with watery eyes. The poor girl seems to be stuck in a perpetual state of anxiety and sadness during what should be the happiest week of her life. Wanting to spare the girl her dignity, she shoots Tom a pointed glare. He sighs as he shoves his hand into his cloak and offers Madelina his handkerchief.

Madelina quickly accepts it so she can blot her cheeks. “Um, no one. My brother hasn’t made it back in time to play for me.”

Rosamaria shares Tom's sentiment about today's events. She wants to tell Madelina that it's just a silly game, a formality, really. Madelina is the bride and she should have all the honor. She wants to shout that it's ridiculous for this game to continue on without a proper champion for the girl. She wants to commandeer the crowd, entrance them with her aura of authority, and demand that they return inside for supper instead, but she knows she can't. 

Again she thinks, _it's just a stupid puto game_. It means nothing to her and Tom, but it means something to Madelina Parkinson. 

And Madelina Parkinson means something to her. 

“I will be your champion,” she decides confidently, shrugging her shoulders with indifference. "I happen to be excellent on the broom. I am sure that I can catch on quick." 

“Oh, Rosamaria,” Madelina sighs, giggling between her sniffs, looking completely resigned. “Only the men can play.”

Rosamaria reels her head back, tsking at her. “Says who?”

Marigold, who has managed to stay silent all this time thanks to Tom's interference, finally speaks. “Says _tradition_ ," she emphasizes the word as if Rosamaria can't understand the English language. "Proper ladies don’t play these games. It’s unseemly. This might be okay in your country, but here in Britain, we have certain standards.”

Again, another dig at Rosamaria's pride. Again, another opportunity to make Rosamaria feel less than. Rosamaria takes a deep breath and prays to not lose her composure. She needs to handle this in a way her mother would be proud of. She hears her mother's voice in her head.

_Mi amor, the men might rule this world, but just remember that they are nothing without women._

“Well, Mrs. Parkinson," Rosamaria starts, putting on her the politest expression she can manage. "I _am_ a proper lady. I do not know if your daughter has told you anything about my lineage, but I am a duchess. I believe titles mean something in your country? While I respect traditions, my family never implied that there are things women _can not_ do."

"You don't have a broom. One simply can't play without one, dear. Honestly, if you can barely understand the rules, what good are you? Either way, the honor is not to be claimed by someone like you."

That's the final straw. If Rosamaria had thought that she would just play for the fun of it, she's entirely wrong. 

No. She's going to play to _win_. 

━━━━━━━━━━━

Tom is a proud man, everyone knows this. He enjoys being the center of attention, the most powerful man in the room. Sure, bringing Rosamaria along- a pureblooded foreign witch- did cost him a few points with the crowd, but it's nothing too extreme. Her sheer beauty is enough to salvage his reputation, and she is every bit worth it.

He does have to admit that having to rein her back during these last few days has been utterly draining. There's nothing he wants more than to simply allow her to let loose all of that pent of rage and resentment she's feeling, it's a lot similar to his own. If they were lesser people, they would have snapped by now. All these bitchy purebloods want is to find one reason to turn on them and humiliate them. However, he and Rosamaria are far superior to them and their mind games- it's child's play.

He thought that this day would be just like the last. He'd have to endure passive-aggressive remarks aimed toward his woman without being able to do a thing about it. However, it has taken a delightful turn. He watches her stand proudly in her regal cream dress, her wild hair billowing around her, her eyes lit with defiance. He smiles knowingly at what she's doing. He has to admit that it’s hot. If the circumstances were different, he'd drag her back to their suite and fuck her senseless.

His clever witch is killing two birds with one stone. She is ridiculously trying to comfort her pouting friend while also sticking one to Marigold. She is being loyal to her friend while also asserting her dominance. 

_Yeah_ , he thinks. _Fucking hot_. 

"You don't have a broom. One simply can't play without one, dear. Honestly, if you can barely understand the rules, what good are you?" Marigold argues, a victorious smile gracing her lips. "Either way, the honor is not to be claimed by someone like you."

_Oh, big mistake you old hag._

“I see,” Rosamaria sighs, looking despondent. Tom wants to snort because he knows exactly what his witch is doing. She’s playing with her food and he loves just how much he enjoys it. He decides he wants to stoke that fire, help it burn into _Fiendenfrye_. She wants to make a point, and who is he to deny her pleasure? 

“Darling, that’s a pity,” he says with a fake pout, shooting her and Madelina- whose eyes have lit up with hope- a disappointed frown. “Well, it seems you can’t play.”

He’s given her a perfect opportunity, an opening to show just how much better she is than Marigold and all those old pureblood bitches. It only takes her a second to lock eyes with him in confirmation of his plan. She playfully bites her bottom lips, looks around, and suddenly it hits her.

“You have a point, _querido_ ,” she says, eyes zeroed in on a man standing just beside them with a broom, a man who hasn’t joined the champions. “But you know how resourceful I am. Give me just a moment.”

Tom smirks as she walks over to the man and confidently taps his shoulder. He turns around with a sneer on his face, but it turns into a lustful smile as he notices just how beautiful his interruption is. Tom has to resist the urge to growl as the man begins to mentally undress her. He's staring blatantly at her exposed cleavage which doesn't go unnoticed by either him or her. Tom remembers what he did to the last man who stared at her like that, but he holds his tongue because he would hate to spoil her fun. However, this is all part of her plan, so he has to grin and bear it as she subtly adjusts the top of her dress.

“Aren’t you pretty?" he says, his voice dropping to a husky drawl. "How can I help a beauty such as yourself?”

“Yes actually,” she replies, giggling stupidly into her hand as her other reaches for the man's bicep. “I want your broom.”

The man snaps his eyes away from her cleavage and drops his jaw as he stares at her. “M-my what?”

“Your broom," she reasserts, tossing her hair behind her shoulder, cocking her head to the side. "Please.”

Time seems to stop for a moment. Marigold and Madelina are both watching with curious shock at her not-so-subtle command. What kind of person has the audacity to simply ask for someone's possession? Who has the confidence to even do such a thing?

The man takes a moment, looking between the broom in his hand and her sweet smile. After another moment, Rosamaria licks her lips and presses herself closer to him, close enough to draw his fancy, but not close enough to be vulgar. "Please. It would make me so happy and it will only be for a second. I will make sure to repay you greatly."

After that comment, the man immediately shoves his broom into her dainty hands. This shocks Marigold, but not Tom. Tom, like these foolish men, has fallen into her trap. Her trap that's filled with curly brown hair, chocolate eyes, supple cleavage, and radiant smiles. A man would be a fool to deny her, and he should know. He's tried it enough times to see how fruitless it is.

Rosamaria doesn't say another word to the lust-struck man as she bounces away from him with a proud smirk on her lips. She’s displayed just how charming she is, and just how much natural power she has over others. 

“It is settled then!” she cheers, shoving the broom into Marigold's shocked hands as she transfigures her dress into something resembling a riding outfit. “Let the games begin!"

Marigold stutters as she looks up at her, her grip on the broom becoming dangerously tight. "What was that? How-"

"Mother, don't argue," Madelina whines, prying to broom away so she can hand it to Rosamaria with a smile. "Rosamaria asked him nicely and he said yes. I told you she was something special!"

"And special she is," Tom agrees, winking at her as she adjusts her ponytail. "So, it seems everything is in order."

"Absolutely," Rosamaria signs, throwing a smug grin at Marigold. "It seems that the game is starting, so I must go. I do believe _I_ am going to win the Parkinson family some honor.”

Tom wants to thank Salazar for being here the moment that Marigold Parkinson almost dies. The half-blooded foreigner is going to win _her_ family _honor_? She practically faints in Madelina's arms. The bushy-haired girl catches her mother, but it doesn't stop her from waving animatedly at Rosamaria as Tom escorts her to the pitch. 

Although the encounter was solely for Marigold, it seems that everyone else has caught a whiff of what has just occurred. As he walks with her with his hand resting low on her back, he revels at the jealous gazes and indulges in the indignation. He wants to laugh at the frivolity of the pureblooded hierarchy. They're no better than the chickens Marigold believes Rosamaria raises. They abide by the pecking order, and Rosamaria has just pecked the biggest fucking chicken. 

Once they reach the center of the pitch, Rosamaria seems eager to join the other men. She turns to Tom quickly. "Wish me luck!"

"You won't need it," he says with a smile, stuck in disbelief at how this wonderful woman is his. 

She giggles and it's like a siren's melody. “What makes you so sure?” 

He licks his lips as he bends down, pinching her chin between his fingers as he presses his lips against hers for the whole world to see. "Because everything you do is perfect, love."

 _Love_. 

Again with that fucking word. It's already slipped out once before and he's always caught off guard when it does. His lips freeze on hers and his body is suddenly thrown into panic. He thinks a sweat is breaking on his forehead despite the chilly temperature and he can't move. Rosamaria, in her excitement, doesn't sense his internal combustion and gives him one last peck before running up to Cornelius to announce her participation. 

He's stuck in time, frozen in the middle of the pitch, chained to the ground. It hits him and it hits him hard. He feels it cascade down his body, fill his heart, and invade his very broken and tattered soul. The one thing he thought he could never feel, the one thing he never wanted, the one thing he always ran from is upon him and he is utterly _fucking_ terrified. It's one single question and it's managed to shake the most powerful wizard on the planet. 

_Is this what falling in love feels like?_

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, WHAT DO WE THINK? Is our Tom Marvolo Riddle falling in love? Is that even possible?


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the Champion's Game, Rosamaria's mood takes a terrible turn when she runs into Cantakerous Nott. Will Tom be able to put her mind at ease?

_ ROSAMARIA IS SWEATY AND EXHAUSTED, _ but she embraces the way her hair sticks to the back of her neck with moisture and the way her thighs quake with every step she takes. 

Rosamaria Adelaide Marquez- the foreign disgrace- has won the Champion’s Game and brought home honor for the Parkinson family. 

She laughs as she remembers Marigold Parkinson’s reaction. As she had embraced an overjoyed Madelina, dangling the golden trophy for all to see, her mother hadn’t shared her daughter’s tears of joy. Marigold- the pureblood bitch- had fainted, actually  _ fainted _ . Rosamaria would have rolled over with laughter if she hadn’t been surrounded by society’s most elite. Tom, ever the gentleman, had offered to escort the matriarch to her chambers but not before giving Rosamaria a sly wink.  Rosamaria, after receiving a round of applause from the women around her and a few glares of hate from the men, had retired shortly after. 

As she walks through the ancient halls of Chapman Manor, she can’t help but feel on top of the world. She has proven, once again, that she is someone to not disregard or push to the back. She has proven to be a force to be reckoned with. And, as an added bonus, she has also brought home victory for all the women in attendance with a carefully placed lesson to _never_ underestimate a woman.  Her riding books click against the cold stone floors that lead to her guest-chamber, but right before she can reach her door, she spots something out of the corner of her eye. 

“Canty?” she questions, pursing her lips at him. “What are you doing up here? I thought you would have joined the festivities?”

Cantankerous Nott is sitting in his chambers, the door completely open, apparently not expecting anyone to walk by with the crowd still regaling the night away outside. His formal robes have been discarded long ago, and he sits with his head in his hands in nothing more than his trousers and a button-down shirt. When he hears her voice, his head snaps up and he tries to tame his wild black hair as he stares at her in surprise. 

“R-Rosamaria,” he stutters, jumping to his feet, his eyes twitching in every direction. “What are you doing here?”

Rosamaria raises her eyebrows and places her hands on her hips. “I have just asked you the same thing. Is something wrong, Canty? You missed it! Me, an inferior, foreign, Ravenclaw have brought home honor for the Parkinsons! I am a bit upset you missed it!"

Canty’s momentary shock and nervousness dim at the news. He smiles widely at her. “That’s great! I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I just…”

Rosamaria doesn’t miss the way his eyes keep flicking behind her figure as if he’s waiting for someone to spontaneously appear behind her. She furrows her eyebrows for a moment until the only logical answer crosses her mind. Tom's words echo in the back of her mind. "Cossette is still downstairs with your parents. Is she the reason you ignored me today?"

"No," he says with a quick shake of his head, the news that his soon-to-be fiancee isn't going to walk in at any moment doesn't seem to soothe him. "That's not why..."

But he trails off and Rosamaria finds her nose wrinkling in confusion. She doesn't quite like that feeling, she never has. She's clever and has always been able to solve even the most intricate puzzles. Rosamaria isn’t blind and she’s noticed the way her close Slytherin friend has been acting for the last few days. She hadn’t found the time to speak to him about it, seeing as though the days since arriving at Chapman Manor had been filled with activities, but she had planned on it. Today's events only furthered her need to get to the bottom of the mystery. 

The day they all left Hogwarts, there had been something off with his attitude. At first, she figured that when he injured himself trying to create new charms, his ego had been bruised. However, when the real bruises and cuts had faded away- all evidence of his failure gone- he had still retained that same aloofness and suspicion. Whenever she had tried to approach him, he seemed to find any excuse to flee, much as he’s doing now. 

“Canty, come sit with me,” she sighs, walking to sit at the foot of his bed. He looks like he’d rather be in the belly of a Hungarian Horntail than sitting on the same bed with her, but when she pats the comforter with insistence, he relents with another quick peek at the door. “Now, what is wrong?”

He shakes his head furiously, fidgeting with his cuff links. “It’s nothing, really.”

“That is such a lie. Believe it or not, Canty, but I am your friend. Out of everyone, you and Madelina are the only ones I consider my true friends. It hurts that you have been acting so strangely.”

She hopes that her words will invoke that familiar flush of his cheeks and nervous biting of his lips, but it doesn’t. Instead, he snorts rather crudely as he narrows his eyes at her. “What? Tom didn’t make it on that list?”

She reels her head back at his comment. There is such venom- such  _ spite _ \- in his voice and it’s completely unnatural and uncharacteristic. “Okay, now I know something is wrong. This is about Tom?”

“Please don’t bring him into this,” he growls, clenching his fists.

“You are the one who brought him into this! I do not even know what  _ this _ is!” Rosamaria groans as she scoots closer to him, testing his resolve by placing her hand on his shoulder. When he flinches but doesn’t go to move her, she speaks. “Now, I have an inkling I know what this is about.”

“Do you?” He says, raising his eyebrows in both a questioning and mocking manner. “Please, indulge me.”

She holds her tongue and stops herself from lashing out. “Is this because you asked me to go to this wedding with you? Canty, I would have said yes. But, you have to understand that even if Tom and I were not together, it would have just been as friends. I thought we spoke of this?”

“He’s not right for you,” he snaps instantly, grabbing a hold of her other hand. There’s something in his eyes that hints at determination but also shows her how much he feels he’s risking by voicing his concern. 

She wrinkles her forehead. “What makes you say that? He is your friend, Canty-”

“He’s  _ not _ my friend,” he seethes, and suddenly the pressure on her hand doesn’t feel warm. It’s almost painful. “There’s a difference between my relationship with you and my relationship with him. You are so full of light, Rosamaria. You are kind and compassionate and everything good. Tom is none of that.”

Rosamaria swallows audibly. She’s never seen Canty this distressed. He’s urgent and frantic and- although he’s never really composed- completely unraveled. She understands his assessment, she’s everything he said she is, and she can also acknowledge his latter statement. 

Tom Marvolo Riddle is nothing like her. He’s not warm and fuzzy or naturally inclined to acts of kindness. He is ruthless with those he dislikes and arrogant about just how brilliant he is. However, despite all his flaws, he’s good to  _ her _ . He takes care of her after being tangled in the sheets, he makes sure that she keeps up with her schoolwork, he ensures that her every need is met- always. 

“Listen to me,” he says, grabbing both of her hands as he glances behind her shoulder at the door. “Are you sure that you really want to be with him? You haven’t felt any doubts about him? Any...unusual feelings?”

She bites her lips when he says this. She can feel a gentle tugging in her skull, an itch in her mind that she can’t seem to scratch. It feels like something is missing, but she can’t fathom what it is. She wants to be kind to her friend who seems to be on the verge of a jealous breakdown, but that’s what he is- jealous. It simply can’t be anything else.

“Canty,” she whispers, pulling her hands away and standing. “I am sorry that you and Tom do not have a good relationship. I truly thought that you were his friend. I know that sometimes he can be a little difficult, but he is so much better than you give him credit for.”

His eyes widen. “But, Rosamaria he-”

“I will not tell him about this.” She raises her hand to gesture at him to remain seated. “I value our friendship and I hope that in the future, you will not try to plant any seeds of doubt. Believe it or not, I am happy with Tom and I hope that one day you will be happy for me too.”

She walks away, leaving Cantankerous Nott in bigger shambles than he was before. She had told him that she wasn’t giving a second thought to his words, but that is a lie. As she walks down the corridor, pushing back her sweaty hair, loosening the buttons of her riding shirt, she can’t help but still feel that uncomfortable tug, that unscratchable itch. It follows her all the way to her guest room, becoming larger and more pronounced. It’s almost unbearable as she opens the door. 

_Just...be careful._

Theodora's words are the next to pop into her mind, the fuzzy sensation that tells her she should listen more carefully to those words. Canty must have said those things out of jealousy, but what excuse did she have for Theodora? The girl had been nothing but a loyal friend, and Rosamaria had snuffed her for her comment. What is it about their words that have struck her so much? Affected her to the point of physical discomfort? The most confounding this is, that no matter how hard she tries to push it away, it just continues to grow. 

“There’s my beautiful witch!”

It feels like someone has doused water on a raging fire. Her breath hitches at the sight in front of her. Tom Marvolo Riddle, in all his proud glory, holding a bouquet of beautiful red roses, smiling at her like she’s just found the cure for death. 

“Tom,” she breathes, pleasantly surprised and utterly confused as she accepts the flowers. “What-”

“Darling, you were wonderful!” He steps toward her and immediately takes her into his arms, the red roses crushed between them as he buries his nose in her hair. “You were perfection today.”

“Is that was this is about?” she mumbles against his chest, feeling slightly suffocated by how tightly he holds her. “Is that what has you in this mood?”

Tom pulls back and furrows his eyebrows, although the smile on his lip hasn’t disappeared. “What do you mean? I’m always like this.”

She snorts. 

“Fine,” he relents with a roll of his eyes. “Forgive me for being extremely satisfied that my beautiful witch stuck it to all those pompous purebloods by winning the Champion’s Game.”

She nods her head with the realization. “Ah, that is what has made you so pleased.”

“I told you we were better than them, didn’t I? People like them have always looked down on people like us. You have just proven to them how utterly inferior they are.”

“So, you are not upset then?" she questions, biting her bottom lip nervously. Although she had seen Tom's obvious amusement, she did _technically_ step on a few high-heeled toes. She knows how to play the political game, knows that there is danger in ruffling the wrong feathers. "I believe I almost killed Marigold Parkinson.”

He laughs loudly and genuinely, wrinkles forming around his eyes, foreign for a man that rarely has a reason to sport them. “Of course, not! I had to escort that bitch back to her chambers for appearance's sake, obviously, but don’t think for a second I wasn’t smug while doing it. I’m so proud of you.”

Those words are everything to her and they make her breath hitch. She can't remember Tom ever saying that to her. Truthfully, she shouldn't feel the warmth blossoming in her chest. Rosamaria has no need for anyone's approval, she's been taught to be above that, but for some reason, Tom is the exception. Tom has always been the exception. His pride, his admiration, his awe, his _everything_ lights a fire in her. She feels silly for craving that feeling, the high dissipating so quickly that she needs another hit. It's a high that she will constantly chase. 

All discomfort is gone, all doubts, all questions, everything. She giggles as she throws herself back in his arms and peppers his face with kisses. “It was wonderful, was it not? Did you see Madelina’s face? Oh, Tom, she was so happy!”

“Yes, yes,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “You made the bride’s day, as to be expected. Truthfully, I was too busy watching Rykin bitch about how terribly Rolin did.”

“Be nice, Tom!” she says with a playful slap to his chest. 

“Me? Nice? When am I ever?”

She stops in her tracks and Canty’s treacherous words creep back into her skull. Tom doesn’t seem to sense her sudden change, and instead plucks the roses from her hands and magically summons a vase. 

“Why don’t we get cleaned up for dinner?” he proposes, working lazily down the buttons of her shirt. “I had the house-elves draw us a bath. Honey scented oils, red wine, some cheese for the appetite I’m sure you worked up, what do you say?”

And she feels like she’s on a rollercoaster. Doubt, clarity, doubt, clarity, doubt, clarity-

But then his lips are on hers and his hands are fumbling with the buttons of her pants. He’s dragging her into the tub, disrobing her with tender care, and lowering their bodies into the bath. 

As they soak in the tub, laughing and kissing and smiling, she can’t help but feel a thousand percent satisfied. Their kisses turn into snogging which turns into love-making. He leans her back against the edge of his tub as he crawls over her. His hands reach blindly for her hips and she takes his length with a satisfied moan. Their bodies rock against each other as the water sloshes around them. 

“My greatest treasure...” he whispers into her ear, pressing featherlike kisses on her jaw as her nails dig into his wet shoulders. "...so proud of you..."

They stay like that for far too long- hips against hips and lips against lips- and the water turns cold and their fingers become wrinkled. In their lust-filled haze, she looks toward the bathroom door and catches a glimpse of the red roses sitting at her bedside table. In between those beautiful moments, there’s only one thought that comes to her mind. 

_This must be what falling in love feels like._

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Rosamaria...I love you, but you have no idea what's coming


End file.
